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GERALD   GRIFFIN. 


.H3 


PREFACE. 


N  the  following  extracts  from  the  works  of  the 
ablest  and  best  known  Irish  novelists  of  the 
present  century,  we  have  endeavored,  while 
giving  variety  to  the  selections,  to  afford  the 
reader  an  insight  into  the  many-sided  character 
of  the  people  in  the  several  sections  of  Ireland. 
Each  of  the  writers  put  under  contribution  thor- 
oughly understood  the  peculiarities,  idiosyn- 
crasies, modes  of  thought,  and  forms  of  expression 
of  his  countrymen,  but  mainly  so  far  as  he  had 
studied  them  in  his  own  particular  district  or 
province.  Hence  the  Munster  peasant  of  Griffin, 
and  the  northern  cottier  of  Carleton,  are  as  differ- 
ent from  each  other,  and  from  the  Leinster  wag 
sketched  by  Lover,  and  the  rollicking  Connaught 
soldier  of  Charles  Lever,  as  if  they  did  not 
belong  to  the  same  age  and  nation ;  yet  ail  are 
drawn  true  to  nature,  and,  locally,  with  the  great- 
est fidelity. 

The  numerous   works   of    these    authors   have 


4  Preface. 

long  since  been  republished,  and  are  still  exten- 
sively read  in  this  country,  and  we  trust  that  our 
present  volume,  while  affording  Half-Hours' 
amusement  to  the  public,  will  further  stimulate 
the  popular  desire  for  a  more  intimate  acquaint- 
ance with  their  larger  and  highly  elaborate  pro- 
ductions. 

New  York,  October,  1872. 


CONTENTS. 


GERALD    GRIFFIN. 

PAGE 

The  Mistake,              ^       #»*••»«       •  9 

The  Raven's    Nest     »,...,,.«  37 

Sir  Dowling  O'Hartigan,        .. 61 

The  Story  Teller  at  Fault,        ,        ,        ,       .        .  80 


SAMUEL   LOVER. 

Barney  O'Reirdon,     „       t        ,        «        .        .        .        .  115 

The   Priest's   Story,          ,.,....  174 

Paddy  the  Piper,              .        1                         ....  186 

The  White  Trout,     *        ..       .....  200 


WILLIAM    CARLETON. 

The  Donagh,  r       ,        » 215 

Larry   McFarland's  Wake,      ,       .        .  262 


CHARLES   LEVER. 

The   Doctor's  Tale,  ., 281 

The  Adjutant's  Courtship,      ......  297 

The  Ghost,         j       »        .        .  „       t  313 

Serving  a  Writ,  ....-».,.  325 


Gerald  Griffin. 


THE    MISTAKE. 


"  Tell  why  the  sepulchre, 
Wherein  we  saw  thee  quietly  inurned 
Hath  oped  his  ponderous  and  marble  jaws 
To  cast  thee  up  again?     What  may  this  mean?" 

Hamlet,  act  i.  scene  iv. 

THERE  was  no  happier  man  in  the  wide  world 
than  Phelim  O'Rourke,  from  the  longest 
day  he  could  remember  until  that  on  which  he 
was  married,  and,  alas!  that  we  should  have  to 
record  it,  no  one  so  miserable  ever  after.  His 
fate  was  the  more  pitiable,  that  he  was  unusually 
cautious  in  entering  on  a  state  which  was  to  fix 
the  good  or  evil  fortune  of  his  future  life.  He 
did  not  embrace  it  as  a  mere  boy  ;  he  was  verging 
fast  beyond  manhood  at  the  time,  he  had  known 
the  object  of  his  choice  from  childhood,  and  he 
devoted  a  fortnight  of  deep  contemplation  to  the 
affair  before  Shrovetide.  But  after  the  inextri- 
cable knot  was  tied,  the  grounds  upon  which  his 
unfortunate  attachment  rested  proved  beyo-nd  all 
conception  unsubstantial.  The  gay  good-humor 
of  little  Anty  O'Donnel,  the  tender  look,  the  glad 
welcome,  and,  above  all,  the  winning  obsequious- 
ness  of    manner   which    first    caught    his   heart, 


io  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

one  by  one  faded  like  fairy  gifts  away  n*  the 
person  of  Mrs.  O'Rourke,  until  at  the  end  of  five 
or  six  months  he  began  almost  to  call  in  question 
the  fact  of  their  having  ever  had  any  existence. 
He  sometimes  thought  to  himself  that  he  must 
have  been  juggled  by  witchcraft,  or  his  imagina- 
tion deluded  by  some  love  potion,  perhaps  private- 
ly administered  by  Anty.  When  he  went  from 
home  in  the  morning,  instead  of  the  fond  farewell 
look  which,  in  his  young  fancy,  he  imagined 
would  daily  follow  him  to  his  early  labor,  he  had 
to  endure  the  frowning  glances  of  his  helpmate, 
and  her  oft-repeated  charges  about  his  tarrying 
out  after  work-time ;  for  the  joyous  welcome  home, 
he  met  a  reception  that  would  have  augured  a 
change  for  the  worse  in  the  wife  of  Rip  Van 
Winkle ;  and  for  the  fond  anxiety  to  please  in 
their  frequent  communings,  a  total  disregard  to 
every  wish  of  his  heart,  and  a  determined  resolu- 
tion to  have  everything  her  own  way. 

Phelim  was,  happily  for  himself,  of  a  very 
elastic  temperament.  If  he  was  easily  depressed 
by  his  evil  fortune,  he  was  also  easily  elated  when 
his  better  star  seemed  to  be  in  the  ascendant ;  and 
perhaps  if  the  settled  cloudiness  of  Anty's  coun- 
tenance had  been  ever  so  rarely  visited  with  a 
gleam  of  sunshine,  he  might  have  have  considered 
his  fate,  though  a  very  checkered  one,  as  not  quite 
insupportable.  But  the  season  of  her  ill-humor 
set  in  after  wedlock  like  a  polar  night  to  the 
northern  mariner — long  and  hopeless,  and  with  no 


The  Mistake.  1 1 

promise  of  a  future  day.  "  I  have  heard  tell,"  he 
used  to  mutter  to  himself,  in  his  moments  of  bitter- 
ness, "  of  a  woman's  leading-  a  man  the  life  a  dog-, 
but  sure  a  dog  has  a  fine  life  of  it  compared  to 
mine.  He's  up  with  the  sun,  delighting  himself 
with  his  sports  in  the  grassy  fields,  and  there's  no 
living  eye  takes  envy  at  his  amusement ;  he  gets 
his  mess  in  peace  in  the  chimney  corner,  twice  in 
the  day,  without  toil  or  trouble,  and  he  sleeps  like 
a  kitten  by  the  fireside  all  night,  without  dramin' 
or  startin'  as  I  do,  thinkin'  of  the  day's  doens ;  if 
he  gets  an  odd  kick  or  a  batin,  he  knows  'tisn't 
out  of  any  ill-will,  and  it  doesn't  dwell  on  his 
mind  a  minute  after  the  pain  is  gone  ;  and  if  he 
hears  a  tongue  equal  to  Anty's,  'tisn't  expected 
he'll  understand  it.  Oh  !  mo  leare  !  the  life  of  a 
dog  is  a  fine  life." 

Time,  which,  it  is  said,  wears  down  the  edge  of 
the  sharpest  evil,  did  very  little  in  his  weary 
course  for  Phelim  O'Rourke  when  the  cholera 
suddenly  reached  his  neighborhood,  and  commit- 
ted awful  havoc  in  every  direction.  There  was 
the  greatest  consternation  throughout  the  district, 
and  the  visitation  was  met  by  every  one  in  fear 
and  trembling,  except  by  those  for  whom  misery 
had  already  stripped  death  of  his  terrors.  Phelim 
could  not  be  altogether  placed  among  the  latter 
class,  nor  said  to  be  wholly  devoid  of  apprehension, 
yet  anticipating  some  respite  to  his  torments,  from 
the  very  natural  hope  that  Anty's  temper  would 
be  mollified  by  the  universal  panic,  he  was  much 


12  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

less  depressed  than  the  multitude.  Even-a  furtive 
smile  might  be  sometimes  detected  playing  about 
his  mouth,  on  the  announcement  of  some  new  and 
appalling  stroke  of  the  destroyer,  when  he  observ- 
ed the  smooth  and  pallid  fear  overspreading  the 
brow  of  his  partner,  and  a  silence,  sudden  as  the 
palsy,  arresting  her  conversation.  It  at  length 
unfortunately  attracted  Anty's  notice,  and,  as  may 
be  conjectured,  convinced  from  that  moment  that 
he  was  felicitating  on  the  prospect  of  her  seizure 
with  the  disease,  her  rage  knew  no  bounds.  Every 
thrill  or  start  of  terror  she  experienced  as  the 
danger  increased  about  her  furnished  new  ground 
for  suspicion  ;  his  very  looks  were  watched  and 
examined  with  a  metaphysical  acuteness,  and  the 
faintest  expression  traced  home  to  its  iniquitous 
source,  until  all  his  anticipations  of  even  tempo- 
rary repose  were  buried  in  the  darkest  disappoint- 
ment, the  spring  by  which  he  thought  to  lie  down 
for  awhile  and  drink  the  sweet  waters  of  content- 
ment pouring  out  for  him  only  new  draughts  of 
bitterness. 

When  we  mention  that  five  years  had  already 
rolled  over  the  heads  of  this  ill-starred  pair,  and 
they  were  still  living  in  one  house,  and  partaking 
of  the  same  meals  in  so  decorous  a  manner  as  to 
keep  their  domestic  agreements  in  some  degree 
hidden  from  the  public,  it  will  be  admitted  that 
Phelim  was  a  man  of  the  most  enduring  patience. 
With  whatever  amount,  however,  of  Christian 
resignation  he  suffered  this  sort  of  life,  he  could 


The  Mistake.  13 

not  always  avoid  indications  of  peevishness  and 
vexation  at  his  lot.  He  was  often  heard  to  say, 
"  I  wish  to  heaven  I  was  taken  off  at  once  be  the 
sickness,  and  'twould  be  an  ease  to  me."  Sometimes, 
indeed,  it  must  be  confessed,  another  alternative 
floated  dimly  in  the  perspective,  when  his  wicked 
angel  whispered  the  question  in  his  ear  :  "  Wouldn't 
it  answer  as  well,  Phelim,  if  it  took  off*  little  Anty  ?" 
His  better  feelings,  nevertheless,  always  discoun- 
tenanced those  evil  suggestions,  as  well  as  the 
contingent  result  of  such  an  occurrence,  which 
his  busy  imagination  was  ever  ready  to  disport  in 
when  permitted  to  go  at  large. 

It  happened  one  morning,  as  they  were  sitting 
to  breakfast,  that  they  heard  a  cry  next  door,  and, 
in  a  few  minutes  after,  a  person  ran  in  and  informed 
them  that  the  woman  who  lived  there  and  her 
three  children  had  been  carried  off  by  the  cholera 
in  the  night,  leaving  the  disconsolate  husband 
alone  in  the  world.  Mrs.  O'Rourke's  eye,  after 
she  had  recovered  from  the  shock  which  the  first 
announcement  of  the  news  had  occasioned,  fixed 
itself  instinctively  on  Phelim,  and  again  she  saw, 
or  fancied  she  saw,  instead  of  the  natural  expression 
of  countenance  at  such  awful  accounts,  a  shrouded 
delight  beaming  in  his  looks,  which  was  very 
badly  concealed  in  his  awkward  semblance  of 
sympathy  for  the  sufferers.  Her  ire  was  instantly 
kindled,  and  after  a  pause  of  a  few  minutes,  dur- 
ing which  she  was  endeavoring  to  subdue  the 
up-bursting  violence  into,  what  she  hoped  might 


14  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

even  for  its  newness  prove  more  cutting,  a  bitter 
irony,  she  observed  : 

"Pleasant  news  this  fine  mornin',  Misther 
O'Rourke ;  the  loss  of  so  many  poor  innocent 
craythurs  at  a  sweep  is  enough  to  delight  the 
heart  of  any  one  !" 

"  What  do  you  mane  be  that,  Anty  ?"  returned 
Phelim.  "  'Twould  be  a  strange  bizness  if  I  wasn't 
sorry  for  poor  Davy  in  his  trouble  !" 

"  Trouble  enough  !"  retorted  Anty.  "  I  b'lieve 
you'd  give  a  thrifle  to  be  in  his  case  for  all ;  'twould 
be  the  glory  of  your  heart,  you  murthering  croco- 
dile, if  the  sickness  come  into  us  to-day,  and  that 
you  saw  me  dacently  laid  under  the  sod  in  the 
even.  I  know  your  thoughts,  you  villain,  for  all 
your  long  faces  ;  I  know  how  you  laugh  in  your 
heart  within  when  you  hear  of  a  poor  woman 
dying,  hopin'  it  may  come  to  my  turn  at  last ;  but 
I'll  disappoint  you  ;  wid  the  blessin'  of  Heaven,  I 
tell  you,  I'll  "disappoint  you  !" 

Phelim  in  vain  protested  against  these  accusa- 
tions, and  much  more  to  the  same  purport  passed 
between  them,  until  the  dispute  reached  a  pitch 
that  he  found  by  experience  it  was  not  safe  it 
should  long  maintain.  He  accordingly  struck  his 
colors,  and  was  hanging  his  head,  after  his  usual 
fashion,  in  profound  silence,  waiting  for  the  storm 
to  subside,  when  the  suddenness  of  that  occurrence 
caught  his  attention,  and,  looking  up  into  his 
wife's  face,  he  thought  he  observed  it  singularly 
pale  and  grave.      She  was   evidently  struggling 


The  Mistake.  r5 

with  some  sudden  terror,  and  on  recovering  her 
speech,  which  she  did  at  once,  from  the  moment 
she  saw  Phelim  fix  his  looks  upon  her,  she  ex- 
claimed : 

"  You  have  your  wish,  you  murtherer,  if 'tis  of 
any  good  to  you,  but  'tis  your  bad  angel  done  it. 
If  you  hadn't  sold  yourself,  the  wicked  longing 
couldn't  thrive  with  you." 

"  What's  the  matter  now  ?"  answered  Phelim. 

"  I'm  off,"  cried  Anty,  "  that's  all;  run  for  the 
priest ;  run,  I  tell  you,  and  take  your  eyes  off  of 
me." 

"■  Erah,  what's  the  matter,  darlin'?"  asked  the 
husband  again,  with  as  strong  an  expression  of 
anxiety  as  he  could  summon  up. 

"  Don't  darlin'  me,  you  villin,"  returned  Anty. 
"I'm  off  and  you  know  it — 'tis  all  your  doens — 'tis 
out  of  the  passion  you  put  me  into  I  got  it — my 
death  will  be  at  your  door." 

"  Got  what,  avourneen  ?" 

"  Lave  off  your  palaveren  again,  and  get  me  the 
priest.  Oh  !  the  Lord  help  me.  I'm  off,  I  believe 
— the  cramp — the  cramp.  I'm  done  for  in  earnest 
— rub  me — rub  me — will  any  one  get  me  the 
priest?" 

Phelim  now  clearly  saw  that  she  was  getting 
the  cholera,  for  while  she  was  speaking  her  voice 
began  to  grow  hoarse  and  whispering,  her  face 
became  bluish,  and  shrunk  to  half  its  usual  size, 
her  eyes  were  sinking  in  her  head,  like  those 
of  a  wasted  corpse,  and  a  cold  sweat  was  oozing 


1 6  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

out  from  every  pore.  "  Rub  me,  you  vagabond,  if 
there's  any  compassion  left  for  your  poor  raur- 
thered  wife.  Oh  !  my  leg — my  leg — rub  me — 
won't  any  one  rub  me — there — there — higher  up 
— oh  !  my  foot — the  other  foot — won't  I  get  the 
priest  at  all,  Dheelen  ?" 

A  woman  happening  to  come  in  at  the  moment, 
attracted  by  her  cries,  the  astounded  husband  left 
his  wife  in  her  care,  and  darted  off  for  the  priest. 
We  shall  not  venture  to  analyze  his  reflections  by 
the  way,  nor  offer  a  conjecture  as  to  their  nature. 
It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  by  the  time  he  reached 
Father  McMahon's  residence  his  countenance  had 
attained  a  very  decorous  length,  and  he  was  not 
wanting  in  a  due  degree  of  impatience  to  hurry 
back  with  the  worthy  man.  They  left  the  door 
together,  and  though  the  priest  was  mounted 
very  tolerably,  and  pushed  on,  as  in  all  cases  of 
urgency,  at  rather  a  rapid  rate,  he  was  far  out- 
stript  by  the  anxious  Phelim,  who  stood  again  by 
poor  Anty's  side  before  it  could  have  been  thought 
possible  for  him  to  traverse  such  a  distance. 

The  neighbors  were  at  the  time  holding  a  con- 
sultation in  an  antechamber,  to  determine  what 
was  the  best  course  to  be  pursued  with  her. 

"  Take  her  to  the  hospital  at  once,"  says  one, 
who  thought  the  further  and  the  sooner  she  was 
removed  from  his  own  domicile  the  better. 

"  'Tis  the  best  way,"  says  a  second,  "  for  she's  a 
gone  woman  if  there  isn't  something  done  for  her 
in  a  hurry." 


The  Mis  lake.  ij 

"  Gone  or  not  gone,"  exclaimed  a  third,  who 
proved  to  be  a  sister  of  Anty's,  "  she'll  never  set 
foot  in  the  hospital.  I'll  not  have  her  pisened  be 
the  docthors,  any  way." 

"  Indeed,  'tis  seldom  they're  throublesome  afther 
comen  out  of  their  hands,"  observed  a  pedlar,  who 
stood  listening  in  the  crowd  ;  "  they're  the  quieter 
for  visiting  'em  ever  afther,  to  my  knowledge." 

"  Thrue  for  him,  faix,"  cried  another;  "  many's 
the  fine  young  boy  or  girl  I  see  go  into  'em  stout 
and  ruddy,  and  come  out  in  the  mornen  with  their 
feet  foremost." 

"  Eyeh,  don't  be  runnen  'em  down  that  way," 
observed  a  little  tailor,  who  had  obtained  some  re- 
putation as  a  wit,  "  they're  not  so  bad  after  all ; 
go  into  'em  ever  so  bare  or  naked,  and  they  never 
fails  to  send  3-011  out  with  a  new  wooden  jacket 
and  steel  buttons !" 

"  Ulaloo  !  the  vagabonds,"  exclaimed  the  sister, 
"  they  destroy  'em  with  their  physics  ;  sure  I  seen 
'em  with  my  own  two  eyes  in  the  hospital,  chang- 
ing color  as  soon  as  they  drank  'em  off." 

"  No  wondher,"  rejoined  the  pedlar,  "  when 
they're  paid  for  it." 

"  Paid  by  whom  ?"  exclaimed  half  a  dozen  voices 
simultaneously. 

"  By  the  Government,"  returned  the  pedlar ; 
"  who  else  ?  There  are  too  many  of  us  in.  the 
country  entirely,  and  we're  for  ever  tighten,  and 
night-walken,  and  given  the  world  in  all  of 
throuble.     They  thried  emigration,  and  transpor- 


1 8  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

tation,  and  turnen  us  out  to  starve  on  the  high- 
roads by  what  they  call  the  Subletting  Act,  and 
they  thried  the  treadmill,  and  even  hanging  itself, 
and  'twas  to  no  purpose.  So  they  med  up  their 
minds  at  last  to  rid  the  country  of  us  be  pisening 
us  like  varmin,  and  when  the  cholera  come,  they 
tuck  advantage  of  the  docthors  to  do  it,  be  way  of 
curen  unknownst  to  us." 

"  See  that  why  !"  ejaculated  several. 

"  'Tis  a  good  hundred  pounds  to  'em,  at  any 
rate,  every  poor  soul  they  put  out  of  pain,"  con- 
tinued the  pedlar. 

A  low  "Dheelen!"  (God  help  us!)  was  heard 
from  the  crowd. 

The  priest  had  now  arrived,  and,  seeing  Mrs. 
O'Rourke  in  such  a  deplorable  way  that  there 
was  not  a  moment  to  be  lost,  recommended 
strongly  that  she  should  be  at  once  removed  to 
the  hospital.  He  met,  however,  perhaps  in  conse- 
quence of  the  pedlar's  communication,  with  more 
opposition  than  he  expected,  especially  from 
Anty's  sister,  a  Mrs.  Judy  O'Leary,  of  whom  we 
have  before  made  mention.  He  at  length  thought 
it  better  to  refer  the  dispute  to  Phelim  as  the  fit- 
test person  to  give  a  final  decision  on  the  subject. 

"  I'll  take  the  advice  of  Father  Mac,"  cried 
Phelim,  in  a  melancholy  tone,  "  he's  the  best  judge, 
and,  moreover,  I  have  a  great  opinion  of  the  doc- 
thors." Phelim  had  been  attentively  listening  to 
the  pedlar's  account  of  them. 

"I  tell  you,  Phelim,"  roared  Judy,  "if  you  take 


The  Mistake.  19 

her   there,  she'll   never   come  out  of  it  a    living- 
woman  !" 

"The  will  of  God  be  done!"  replied  Phelim. 
"  How  can  we  help  it?" 

"  Be  not  putting  her  in  there,  you  neygur,"  ex- 
claimed the  indignant  sister.  "  Is  it  to  get  rid  of 
her  you  want  ?" 

The  priest,  perceiving  that  the  difference  of 
opinion  between  the  parties  was  likely  to  increase, 
interposed  before  it  reached  a  climax,  and  demand- 
ed of  Judy  what  she  meant  by  insinuating  such 
imputations  against  the  hospital,  where  respect- 
able medical  gentlemen  were  risking  their  lives 
night  and  day,  amidst  the  most  shocking  scenes, 
in  the  hope  of  rescuing  even  a  few  lives  from  the 
pestilence. 

"  Eyeh  !  the  notorious  thieves  of  the  earth,"  re- 
turned Judy;  "  'tisn't  for  nothing  they're  doen  it, 
and  as  for  recoveren  people,  ar'n't  the  hospitals 
open  now  as  good  as  a  fortnight,  and  for  the  hun- 
dred that  come  out  in  coffins,  there  isn't  one  yet 
come  out  in  his  clothes  !" 

Phelim  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

'•  My  good  woman,"  observed  the  priest,  "  this 
is  all  a  foolish  prejudice.  The  disease  is  a  dread- 
ful one,  and  people  must  die  of  it  wherever  they 
are  ;  but,  independent  of  any  other  consideration, 
I  think  the  safety  of  the  neighborhood  should  be 
considered ;  there  will  be  danger  of  the  sickness 
extending  itself  if  the  poor  creature  is  left  here." 

"  I'll  take  care  of  her  myself,"  answered  Judy, 


20  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"  if  she's  left,  and  no   one   else  need   come  near 
her." 

"  No,  no,  Jud}T  a  lanive,"  exclaimed  Phelim,  a 
little  alarmed,  "  I'll  not  have  }^ou  or  the  neighbor- 
hood in  danger  by  any  means.  No,  no,  avourneen, 
I'd  sooner  suffer  any  loss" — and  he  wiped  his  eye 
with  the  skirt  of  his  coat — "  I'd  sooner  suffer  any 
loss  than  have  the  sickness  spreading  about  like 
wildfire,  as  it  will  if  poor  Anty's  left  here." 

"  Thrue  for  you,  Phelim,"  responded  the 
alarmed  crowd,  "'twill  be  through  every  house 
on  the  road  before  mornen  if  she's  not  taken  to 
the  hospital." 

"  They'll  be  but  few  of  us  left  to  tell  it,  I'm 
afeerd,"  said  Phelim.     "  May  Heaven  protect  us !" 

As  the  sense  of  the  meeting  ran  entirely  with 
Phelim  on  the  necessity  of  poor  Anty's  removal,' 
it  was  in  vain  that  the  persevering  Judy  still  held 
out  and  endeavored  to  convince  them  that  she 
would  so  contrive  to  nurse-tend  her  sister  as  to 
cut  off  all  communication  with  those  residing 
about  her.  It  was  carried  by  acclamation  that  she 
should  be  taken  off  to  the  hospital,  and  the  cho- 
lera-cot having  been  summoned  to  the  spot,  she 
was  laid  into  it,  in  a  state  that,  without  much  aid 
from  the  doctors,  gave  a  fair  promise  of  her  never 
revisiting  her  little  home  again.  Phelim  followed 
slowly  and  with  a  dejected  look  in  the  wake  of 
the  cotmen,  and  they  all  soon  disappeared  from 
the  sympathizing  eyes  of  the  anxious  and  appre- 
hensive crowd. 


The  Mistake.  21 

He  returned  to  his  cabin  alone,  and  as  David 
wept  for  his  son  while  he  was  yet  living,  but  be- 
came resigned  when  hope  and  anxiety  were  alike 
over,  so  Phelim  grieved  for  little  Anty  throughout 
the  day,  shedding  abundance  of  tears,  but  at  night, 
when  a  messenger  arrived  directing  him  to  bring 
a  coffin  to  the  hospital,  the  fountain  of  his  sorrows 
became  dried  up.  "  If  I  was  to  weep  for  a  hun- 
dred years,"  he  observed,  "  sure  'twouldn't  bring 
her  back  again  to  me,  poor  thing  !  'tis  only  flying 
in  the  face  of  heaven  not  to  submit  to  my  misfor- 
tune like  a  Christian ;  there's  no  knowing  how 
soon  it  may  be  my  own  turn."  He  accordingly 
attended  at  the  hospital  gate  with  a  becoming 
spirit,  and,  having  delivered  in  the  coffin,  received 
it  in  his  car  from  the  hands  of  the  porter  and  cot- 
men  again,  freighted  with  the  remains  of  Mrs. 
Anty  O'Rourke,  as  was  testified  by  the  chalk  in- 
scription on  the  cover.  He  immediately  proceeded 
to  the  burying-ground,  accompanied  by  the  hos- 
pital grave-digger,  with  whose  solitary  assistance 
she  was  consigned  to  her  last  resting-place. 

Death  was  a  matter  of  too  common  occurrence 
in  these  days,  to  leave  that  deep  or  permanent 
gloom  after  it  which  it  is  sure  to  do  where  its 
visits,  as  in  ordinary  times,  are  but  few  and  far 
between.  Individual  distress,  however  great, 
seemed  of  small  amount,  even  in  the  estimation  of 
the  sufferer,  while  the  pestilence  was  still  laying 
life  waste  in  every  direction  about  him.  When,  at 
the  end  of  some  ten  or  fifteen  days,  it  at  length 


22  Half  Hours  witli  Irish  Authors. 

quitted  Phelim's  neighborhood,  to  hunt  for  prey 
in  some  new  or  untouched  district,  his  misfortune 
was  but  an  old  and  ordinary  one  in  public  remem- 
brance. He  had,  indeed,  ceased  to  grieve  on  the 
subject  himself,  though  the  image  of  poor  Anty, 
he  declared,  still  haunted  his  mind,  and,  however 
long  he  lived,  could  never  be  effaced  from  his 
memory.  This  assertion,  however,  very  soon  came 
to  be  doubted  by  his  acquaintances.  The  living 
picture  of  Maggy  Fitzgerald,  a  blooming  girl  who 
lived  in  his  vicinity,  was  seen  too  frequently  by 
his  side  to  permit  the  supposition  that  a  rival  from 
among  the  dead  could  occupy  any  very  permanent 
place  in  his  imagination.  The  truth  was  that, 
within  three  weeks  after  his  late  loss,  Phelim  was 
once  more  over  head  and  ears  in  love.  He  had  for- 
gotten, or  ceased  to  think,  of  all  his  troubles  and 
disappointments,  and,  of  such  strange  materials  is 
the  human  heart  made  up,  his  affections  were  as 
fondly  and  utterly  given  away  in  this  new  attach- 
ment as  if  he  had  never  loved  or  been  deceived 
by  woman. 

Fortune,  however,  seemed  now  fully  disposed  to 
make  him  amends  for  the  long  period  of  her  deser- 
tion. His  days  passed  on  in  uninterrupted  dreams 
of  delight,  his  nights  in  refreshing  slumbers,  and 
the  lark  welcomed  the  golden  morning  with  a  song 
less  blitheful.  The  blissful  period  that  was  to  com- 
plete his  happiness  was  at  length  fixed,  and,  day 
after  day,  the  rosy-footed  hours  kept  whispering 
as  they  passed  of  the  joys  that  were  approaching; 


The  Mistake.  23 

4 

but,  alas!   for   poor  humanity!      How  uncertain 

are  its  hopes  ! — how  fleeting  its  enjoyments  !  On 
the  very  eve  of  the  wedding,  a  friend  broke  the 
dreadful  secret  to  him,  that  it  was  generally  ru- 
mored through  the  country  Mrs.  Anty  O'Rourke 
was  still  alive  !  Phelim  sprang  three  feet  from  his 
stool  at  the  announcement,  clapping  his  hands  and 
exclaiming  "  Murther  !"  as  he  came  to  the  ground. 
On  recovering  his  recollection,  however,  and  calm- 
ing a  little,  he  totally  denied  the  possibility  of  such 
an  occurrence,  described  minutely  his  having  him- 
self received  the  coffin  containing  her  remains  from 
the  porter,  and  his  having  buried  it  beneath  three 
feet  of  earth,  with  the  assistance  of  the  grave-digger; 
that  they  even  rolled  a  great  rock  over  the  spot 
afterwards,  which  no  unaided  human  effort  could 
roll  off  again,  so  that,  admitting  such  an  absurdity 
as  her  returning  to  life  after  interment,  there  was 
no  possible  way  by  which  she  could  extricate 
herself  from  the  grave.  He  partly  satisfied  his  in- 
formant by  these  explanations,  but  by  no  means 
removed  the  hankering  suspicion  from  his  own 
mind,  though  perfectly  at  a  loss  to  account  for  it. 
Somebody,  it  was  said,  had  actually  seen  and 
spoken  to  her,  and  though  reports  as  groundless 
every  day  find  circulation,  this  one  came  too  mal- 
apropos to  be  treated  with  perfect  indifference. 
He  pondered  and  enquired,  and  pondered  again, 
until  the  subject  took  such  entire  possession  of  his 
mind  that  he  felt  he  could  neither  rest  nor  sleep 
until  he  had  his  doubts  cleared  up  in  one  way  or 


24  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

another.  He  accordingly  came  to  the  resolution 
of  visiting  the  hospital,  and  investigating  the  mat- 
ter most  minutely. 

On  arriving  at  the  gate,  he  lifted  the  knocker 
with  a  palpitating  heart,  feeling  that  his  fate  de- 
pended on  the  decision  of  the  next  few  moments. 
The  porter  appeared,  and  demanded  his  business. 

"  Will  you  tell  me,  if  you  please,"  answered 
Phelim,  "  do  you  remember  a  woman  of  the  name 
of  Anty  O'Rourke,  that  I  brought  in  here  sick  of 
cholera,  a  little  time  ago  ?" 

"  I  do  well,"  returned  the  porter. 

"  What  became  of'her?" 

"  She  was  discharged,  cured,  about  three  weeks 
ago." 

"Cured  !"  ejaculated  Phelim,  his  jaw  dropping, 
and  his  eyes  dilating  like  saucers. 

"  Iss,  to  be  sure.  Do  you  think  we  never  cure 
any  one?"  returned  the  porter,  with  an  air  of 
offended  dignity. 

"I  don't  mane  that,"  faltered  Phelim,  "but 
m  y — m  y — w  i  fe . " 

"Oh!  ho!  she  was  your  wife,  was  she?  Why, 
then,  I  never  see  one  take  the  recovery  of  his  wife 
so  much  to  heart  before." 

"  She's  dead,  J  tell  you,"  cried  Phelim,  "  'tis  a 
mistake  of  yours — you — you  yourself  put  her 
corpse  in  the  coffin  for  me,  five  weeks  ago,  and 
gev  it  into  my  own  two  hands  at  this  very  doore — 
don't  you  remember  here  at  this  doore  ?  Do, 
agra,  try  to  remember — 'tis  as  true  as  daylight." 


The  Mistake.  25 

"  I  don't  remember  any  sitch  thing,"  answered 
the  porter. 

"  Qh  !  murther!"  exclaimed  Phelim,  striking  his 
hands  against  his  forehead. 

"  May  be,"  continued  the  porter,  "  I  gev  you 
some  one  else  in  a  mistake." 

"  Oh  !  murther  !"  roared  Phelim  again,  as,  with 
hands  still  pressed  to  his  forehead,  he  moved 
backwards  and  forwards  before  the  gate,  stamping 
the  ground  vehemently  at  every  step. 

"  Faix,  it  sometimes  happens  us  for  all,"  contin- 
ued the  porter,  "  when  there's  a  great  number  of 
'em  goes  off  in  the  night.  The  names  are  pinned 
on  'em  when  they're  thrun  in  the  dead-house,  but 
sometimes  they  slips  off  again,  you  know,  and 
then  we're  all  at  a  dead  loss,  not  knowin'  one  from 
another,  so  no  wonther  a  mistake  should  happen — 
some  one  else's  wife  I  giv'  you,  I  suppose  !" 

Phelim,  upon  whom  some  new  light  seemed  to 
be  breaking  during  this  explanation,  now  started 
out  of  his  reverie,  and,  catching  the  porter's  hand 
with  eagerness,  exclaimed,  "  Tell  me  one  thing 
now,  like  an  honest  man,  and  may  the  heavens  be 
your  bed  as  you  tell  me  truly  :  Do  ye  ever  have 
two  people  of  the  same  name  in  the  hospital  at  the 
same  time  ?" 

"  Eyeh  !  plague  on  'em  for  names  !  to  be  sure 
we  do,  almost  every  day — there's  no  pleasing  the 
people  at  all,  'count  of  the  bother  we  have  with 
the  way  they're  christened — all  Paddys,  or 
Daveys,  or  Marys,  or  Peggys,  till  we  can't  tell 


26  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

one  for  another;  but,  death  and  age,  man!"  con- 
tinued the  porter,  suddenly  elevating  his  voice. 
"  Why  do  you  squeeze  my  hand  that  way?" 

"  I  didn't  mane  any  offence  by  it,  avourneen," 
responded  Phelim  ;  "  I'd  be  sorry  to  hurt  a  hair  o' 
your  head,  but  I  have  one  question  more  to  put 
to  you.  What  sort  of  a  woman  was  it  be  the 
name  of  Anty  O'Rourke  that  you  turned  out 
cured  ?" 

"  A  handy  little  skeleton  of  a  creature,  then, 
that  no  cholera  could  kill — one  that  the  world 
couldn't  plaze — scold — scolding  always,  and  with 
looks  that  ud  freeze  a  turnip  when  anybody  ven- 
thured  to  answer  her." 

Phelim's  heart  sank  within  him  again  ;  he  sum- 
moned courage,  however,  to  continue  the  investi- 
gation. 

"  E'then,  do  you  know  at  all,  did  she  get  much 
medicine  from  the  docthors  ?" 

"  She  couldn't  be  got  to  taste  as  much  as  a  drop 
for  any  of  'em,"  replied  the  porter. 

"  Lord  help  us!"  ejaculated  Phelim,  with  a  deep 
sigh. 

"  But  how  is  it,"  said  the  porter,  "  now  I  think 
on  it,  if  she  was  your  wife,  that  she  didn't  go  home 
to  you  ?" 

"Thrue  for  you,"  answered  Phelim,  rubbing  his 
hands,  and  brightening  up  at  a  thought  which  had 
never  occurred  to  him  before.  "  What  is  it  I'm 
thinking  of  at  all  ?  Sure  if  she  and  I  were  on  the 
living  earth,  she'd  find  me  out  in  half  the  time. 


The  Mistake.  27 

The  power  av  the  world  ud  hardly  keep  her  from 
me  for  three  whole  weeks,  that  is,  if  she  had  her 
walk  and  her  five  senses.  I'm  the  rail  fool  and 
not  to  recollect  that  at  wanst  No !  no !  poor 
ooman,  she's  dead  and  buried  long  enough  to  keep 
quiet  for  my  day,  at  any  rate  !  Sure  I  helped  to 
make  the  grave  and  throw  the  earth  on  her  my- 
self!" 

"  I'll  be  bail,  then,  she  has  the  good  winter's  coat 
of  it,"  observed  the  porter  smiling ;  "  you  wouldn't 
like  to  let  the  frost  to  her,  poor  thing  !" 

"  Eyeh !  no  matter,"  returned  Phelim,  "  'tis 
equal  how  we  lie,  when  it  comes  to  that  with  us ; 
but  I'm  obleeged  to  you  for  your  information  en- 
tirely, a  good  evenen." 

"  Safe  home  to  you,  Misther  O'Rourke,"  cried 
the  porter,  the  smile  still  playing  about  his  mouth, 
"  and  if  I  hear  anything  of  Anty's  stirren  about, 
I'll  not  fail  to  come  with  the  news  to  you." 

Phelim  quickened  his  pace,  and  pretended  not 
to  hear ;  muttered,  however,  when  he  reached  a 
sufficient  distance  to  vent  his  feelings  with  impu- 
nity, "  Wisha  asy  enough  it  is  with  you,  that  haven't 
chick  nor  child,  nor  anything  but  your  own  four 
bones  to  throuble  you  ;  may  be  when  you  marry 
you'll  not  have  your  jokes  so  ready,  and  faix  when 
you  do,  all  the  harm  I  wish  you  is  a  wife  equal  to 
Anty." 

On  arriving  at  home,  Phelim  recovered  his 
spirits,  and  made  every  preparation  for  the  wed- 
ding.    After  trying  on  a  new  suit  of  clothes  which 


28  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

was  made  for  him  by  a  Limerick  tailor,  fitting  him- 
self with  a  shining  Caroline  hat,  and  reviewing  his 
figure,  with  due  particularity,  in  a  broken  piece  of  a 
mirror  which  he  had  neatly  set  in  polished  ash, 
he  spent  the  evening  at  the  bride's.  To  such  as 
have  loved,  it  is  needless  to  tell  that  he  did  not  re- 
turn home  until  the  moon  was  going  to  her  rest, 
and  that  he  then  lay  down  on  his  humble  bed  to 
pass  away  the  time  in  chiding  the  lazy  hours  that 
one  by  one  came  slowly  to  his  pillow  to  tell  him 
of  the  approaching  morning. 

At  last  came  the  joyous  wedding  day,  and  with 
it,  from  far  and  near,  the  guests  came  gathering  to 
the  merry  house  of  the  bride.  The  weather  was 
unpropitious,  for  the  morning  had  set  in  with  wind 
and  rain  in  all  the  gloom  of  beginning  winter ;  but 
the  barn  in  which,  for  the  sake  of  increased  room, 
the  company  were  assembled  was  defended  by  a 
thick  coating  of  thatch  from  the  power  of  the 
storm,  and  a  roaring  fire  blazing  at  the  upper  end 
gave  a  fair  guarantee  against  the  influence  of  the 
cold.  The  wedding  baked  meats  were  set  forth, 
the  bagpipes  had  struck  up  a  merry  air,  and  the 
priest  had  already  taken  his  place  at  the  head  of 
the  banqueting  table,  when  a  loud  knocking  was 
heard  at  the  door,  and  a  poor  woman,  wrapped  in 
a  cloak,  who  sought  shelter  from  the  weather,  was 
admitted  to  a  seat  by  the  fireside.  The  occur- 
rence was  too  common  to  occasion  much  observa- 
tion, and  the  feast  proceeded.  Great  and  fearful 
was  the  destruction  on  every  hand,  and  stunning 


The  Mistake.  29 

was  the  noise  of  the  delighted  multitude.  After 
the  meats  and  other  substantial  elements  of  the 
entertainment  had  disappeared,  and  a  becoming 
time  was  allowed  for  discussing  the  punch,  they 
all  arose  at  a  signal  from  the  priest,  and  a  little 
circle  was  formed  at  the  upper  end  of  the  apart- 
ment, in  the  centre  of  which  he  placed  himself, 
with  Phelim  and  Maggy  before  him.  The  impor- 
tant ceremony  was  now  about  to  take  place  which 
was  to  make  them  happy  for  ever,  and  an  anxious 
silence  reigned  throughout  the  room,  broken  only 
by  the  whisper  of  some  of  the  elders  to  one  an- 
other, or  the  suppressed  titter  of  some  sly  maiden 
at  the  bashful  bearing  of  the  bride.  Just  as  the 
priest  took  the  book,  a  loud  cough  was  heard  from 
the  stranger.  No  one  took  notice  of  it,  except 
Phelim  ;  but  as  soon  as  he  heard  it,  he  started  as 
if  he  had  been  electrified,  and  let  fall  Maggy's 
hand  from  his  own  ;  then,  looking  towards  the  fire- 
place where  the  old  woman  was  sitting,  a  cold 
shivering  came  over  him,  and  large  drops  of  per- 
spiration hung  glistening  on  his  forehead. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  darlen?"  ex- 
claimed Maggy,  terrified  at  the  change  which 
came  over  him. 

"  Nothing,  achr.ee,"  replied  the  bridegroom, 
"  but  a  weakness  that  came  upon  me  when  I  heerd 
that  cough  from  the  ind  of  the  room  ;  it  was  so 
like  the  sound  of  one  that  I  was  once  used  to,  but 
that  can  never  be  heard  in  this  world  again." 

Scarcely  had  he  uttered  the  words,  when  an- 


30  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

other  cough  resounded  in  the  same  direction,  and 
again  a  sudden  terror  seized  upon  Phelim,  his  teeth 
began  to  chatter,  his  limbs  to  tremble,  and  he  kept 
looking  up  towards  the  fireplace,  like  one  that  was 
fairy-stricken. 

"  Heaven  purtect  us!"  he  ejaculated,  in  a  faint 
whisper  to  himself. 

"  Phelim — Phelim,  honey  !"  cried  Maggy,  dread- 
fully alarmed. 

"  Sure,"  muttered  he,  heedless  of  the  voice  of 
the  bride,  and  gazing  vacantly  in  the  one  direction, 
"  I  berried  her  with  my  own  two  hands  I" 

"What  ails  you,  Phelim?"  exclaimed  the  priest, 
shaking  him  by  the  shoulder,  to  arouse  him  out 
of  the  stupor  which  seemed  to  oppress  him.  "  Are 
you  ill  ?  Or  what  is  all  this  strange  proceeding 
about?" 

"  I'm  not  well,  indeed,  your  reverence,"  replied 
Phelim,  recovering  himself,  "  I  don'  know  what's 
the  matter,  but  I'm  sure  I'll  be  quite  well  when 
this  business  is  over.     Let  us  go  on." 

He  took  Maggy's  hand  again,  and  the  priest 
proceeded,  but  when  Phelim  commenced  to  repeat 
the  customary  words  after  him,  "  I  take  thee,  Mar- 
garet Fitzgerald,  for  my  wedded  wife,"  his  eyes 
instinctively  fixed  itself  on  the  little  woman  at  the 
fireplace,  when,  to  his  utter  horror,  he  saw  her 
slowly  rising  from  her  stool,  and,  throwing  back 
the  cloak  from  her  head,  turned  round  to  the  com- 
pany. A  general  scream  acknowledged  the  pre- 
sence of  Mrs.  Anty  O'Rourke!     She  settled  her 


The  Mistake.  31 

look  steadily  on  Phelim,  and  walked  slowly  towards 
him.  He  staggered  back  two  or  three  steps,  and 
would  have  fallen,  had  he  not  been  supported  by 
those  about  him.  Her  person  seemed  to  grow 
taller  as  she  advanced,  her  countenance  more 
ferocious  than  he  had  ever  seen  it,  and  she  was 
struggling  with  suppressed  passion  to  such  a  de- 
gree as  for  some  moments  to  impede  her  utter- 
ance. When  her  feelings  at  length  found  vent  in 
words,  she  shook  her  clenched  fist  at  him,  at  once 
relieving  the  party  from  all  suspense  as  to  her 
spectral  character.  "  You  villin  !"  she  exclaimed, 
"  you  thought  you  got  rid  of  me,  did  you  ?  You 
thought  you  had  three  feet  of  the  sod  over  me,  and 
that  you  might  get  on  wid  your  pranks  as  you 
pleased  yourself,  but  I'll  spoil  your  divarsion  for 
you.  I'll  trait  you  wid  a  wife,  so  I  will,  you  un- 
natural dog.  Your  darlen,  indeed  !  (courtesy ing  to 
Maggy).  Your  Maggy,  achree  !  So,  ma'am — 
hem.  Nothen  ud  satisfy  you  but  to  be  Mrs. 
O'Rourke — Mrs.  O'Rourke,  enagh  !  Why  you 
unmoral,  unproper  character,  would  you  have  the 
man  marry  two  wives  ?  Would  you  have  him 
scandalize  the  whole  country?  O  you  rail  Turk 
(to  Phelim),  I  have  been  watching  every  turn  of 
you,  these  three  weeks  back  ;  I've  seen  your  doens 
— your  coorten,  and  dearen,  and  drinken.  What's 
become  av  the  pig,  you  hangman  ?  The  pig  that 
I  reared  from  a  bonnive  wid  my  own  hands.  Yes, 
two  hands — look  at  em — not  so  white  as  Maggy's, 
may  be,  but  belonging  to  Mrs.  O'Rourke  for  all 


32  Half  Hoars  with  Irish  Authors. 

that,  thankee.     Where's  my  pig,  again,  you  born 
villin  ?" 

Poor  Phelim,  somewhat  aroused  by  the  fur}'-  of 
this  attack,  endeavored  to  collect  his  scattered 
senses  and  get  out  of  so  awkward  a  business  as 
decently  as  he  could,  but  the  greater  his  anxiety 
to  appease  her  indignation,  the  longer  his  explana- 
tions ;  the  more  abject  his  apologies,  the  higher 
Anty's  wrath  mounted,  until  at  length,  in  the 
climax  of  a  violent  fit,  she  fell  on  the  floor  perfect- 
ly insensible. 

The  interest  was  now  suddenly  changed.  The 
feelings  of  the  party,  which  a  moment  before  ran 
altogether  in  Phelim's  favor,  now  set  back  in  a 
returning  tide  of  pity  for  the  unfortunate  Anty. 
All  was  anxiety  and  readiness  to  assist  her,  and  no 
effort  suggested  for  her  recovery  was  left  untried.' 
Water  was  splashed  in  her  face,  feathers  burnt 
under  her  nose,  and  attempts  were  even  made  at 
opening  a  vein  by  a  skilful  farrier  who  happened 
to  be  among  the  guests,  but  everything  they 
managed  to  do  for  her  relief  proved  for  a  time 
fruitless.  While  the  crowd  was  still  pressing 
round  her,  Phelim  lay  in  a  chair  by  the  fireside, 
overcome  with  suspense  and  agitation,  but  after  a 
lapse  of  some  twenty  or  thirty  minutes,  suspecting 
from  various  exclamations  which  reached  him 
from  time  to  time  from  the  group  around  his 
wife  that  there  were  hopes  of  her  coming  to,  he 
roused  himself  up,  and,  beckoning  Davy  Dooley, 
an  old  companion  of  his,  to  the  door,  he  addressed 


The  Mistake.  n 

him  with  a  look  full  of  meaning  and  in  a  gentle 
undertone. 

"  Isn't  this  a  purty  business,  Davy?" 

"  The  quarest  I  ever  seen  in  my  born  days,"  re- 
plied Davy  ;  "  she's  coming  to,  I  believe." 

"  We  must  have  a  docthor,  Davy,"  rejoined  the 
husband,  eyeing  his  friend  with  the  same  intent 
look. 

"  Eyeh !  plague  on  'em  for  docthors ;  hadn't 
they  her  ondher  their  hands  before  ?" 

"  They  weren't  to  blame,  any  way,  Davy,  she 
gev  'em  no  fair  play  either  for  death  or  recovery. 
The  porter  tould  me  she  wouldn't  taste  a  dhrop  of 
their  medicines  if  they  were  to  flay  her  alive  for 
it." 

"  'Twas  like  her  cuteness,"  observed  Davy. 

"  Well,  but  listen  to  me,"  continued  Phelim,  and, 
stooping  over,  he  muttered  something  into  the  ear 
of  his  friend. 

"No  better  on  Ireland  ground,"  exclaimed 
Davy,  slapping  his  hands  in  approval  of  the  com- 
munication— "  a  kind,  tender-hearted  man,  that 
never  keeps  poor  craythurs  long  in  pain.  Oh ! 
begannies,  he's  the  real  docthor." 

"Away  with  you  then,  arragal,"  cried  Phelim, 
"  I  hear  her  voice  getten  stronger  ;  offer  him  any 
money.    Run,  aroo  !     Oh  !  mavrone  !" 

"  Where's  Davy  going?"  enquired  the  priest,  as 
he  saw  him  hastily  leaving  the  door. 

"  Sending  him  off  for  the  docthor  I  am,  your 
reverence,"  answered  Phelim,  "  for  I'll  never  let 


34  Half  Hours  zvith  Irish  Authors. 

her  set  foot  in  the  hospital  again.  The)'-  neglected 
her  there  entirely,  them  rogues  of  nurse-tenders, 
and  so  I'll  have  her  attended  at  home  now,  where 
she'll  be  made  take  every  whole  happerth  the 
docthor  orders  for  her." 

"  You're  an  honest  and  a  sensible  man,  Phelim," 
observed  the  priest,  "  and  I  admire  your  behavior 
very  much  in  all  this  strange  business.  I'm  glad 
to  find,  too,  you're  not  giving  way  to  that  foolish 
and  wicked  prejudice  against  the  docthors, 
which  has  been  so  prevalent  since  the  cholera 
commenced." 

"  I'd  be  sorry  to  undervalue  the  gentlemen, 
your  reverence,"  returned  Phelim  ;  "  sure  what  ud 
I  do  at  all  now  without  'em,  and  poor  Anty  is  so 
bad.     I  wondher  is  there  any  chance  for  her?" 

"  Very  little,  I  fear,  Phelim ;  it  appears  like  an 
apoplectic  attack." 

"  Is  it  anything  of  a  lingering  dizaze,  your  re- 
verence ?"  continued  the  husband,  in  a  faltering 
tone. 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  the  priest,  "  it  is  generally 
a  very  sudden  one." 

"  Ove  !  ove  !  the  poor  craythur  !  I  believe  she's 
a  gone  woman  ?"  observed  Phelim  again  enquir- 
ingly. 

"  Indeed  I  fear  so,"  answered  the  priest,  "  unless 
the  doctor  can  do  something  for  her." 

As  he  spoke,  Davy  came  running  in ;  the  doc- 
tor followed  at  a  more  dignified  pace.  He  had 
met  with    him    by  good   fortune   a   few  perches 


The  Mistake.  35 

from  the  cabin,  and  immediately  secured  his  at- 
tendance. 

On  examining  the  patient,  the  doctor  shook  his 
head  despondingly. 

"A  bad  case,"  he  half  muttered  to  himself — "a 
bad  case  ;  too  far  gone  for  medicine." 

"  Thry  something,  your  honor,"  exclaimed 
Phelim  earnestly,  "she  was  as  bad  or  worse  be- 
fore, and  she  recovered  of  it." 

"  Not  so  bad  as  she  is  now,"  replied  the  doctor 
despondingly.  "  However,  I  must  do  the  best  I 
can."  And,  writing  a  few  words  on  a  scrap  of  paper, 
he  directed  Phelim  to  take  it  to  the  dispensary, 
where  he  would  get  two  powders,  one  of  which 
he  was  to  give  his  wife  as  soon  as  ever  he  returned, 
and  the  second  at  five  o'clock,  if  she  lived  so  long. 

The  people  cast  ominous  looks  at  one  another 
as  he  concluded,  and  the  doctor  and  priest  de- 
parted together.  Davy,  meantime,  started  off 
afresh  for  the  medicine,  and,  as  soon  as  he  got 
back,  took  care  to  see  it  administered  strictly  as 
the  doctor  ordered.  At  ten  minutes  to  five  pre- 
cisely Mrs.  Anty  O'Rourke  took  her  departure  for 
another  world. 

"  She's  dead !"  whispered  Davy,  as  he  laid  his 
hand  on  Phelim's  shoulder,  who  was  hanging 
drowsily  over  the  dying  embers  on  the  hearth- 
stone. 

"  Dead  !"  ejaculated  Phelim,  springing  from  his 
seat,  as  if  half  astounded  at  the  news — "  dead  all 
out,  is  she,  Davy?" 


$6  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"  Dead  as  a  door-nail,"  returned  Davy,  "  and  'tis 
just  on  the  stroke  of  five  !" 

"  Think  'o  that,  Davy,"  uttered  Phelim  faintly, 
and  squeezed  the  hand  of  his  friend. 

"  Faix,  he  was  very  exact  in  his  business,"  re- 
joined his  companion  significantly.  "  Oh  !  mo 
leare  !  they're  the  dearies  for  doctors  !" 

"  Say  nothen,  Davy — say  nothen,"  observed  the 
widower,  "  sure  he  did  as  he  was  taught  at  the 
univarsity.  He  was  a  kind  man,  so  he  was,  and 
I'll  not  forget  it  to  him." 

Phelim  was  as  good  as  his  word  ;  the  week 
after  the  decease  and  funeral  of  poor  Anty,  he  had 
the  doctor  invited  to  another  wedding  feast,  at 
which  the  affair  between  himself  and  the  bloom- 
ing Maggy  was  concluded  without  any  further  in- 
terruption, and  he  was  ever  after  his  most  intrepid 
defender,  when  any  of  the  old  women  in  his  neigh- 
borhood ventured  to  tamper  with  his  reputation. 
He  was,  indeed,  often  heard  to  declare,  "  he'd  go 
to  the  world's  end  for  the  docthor — do  anything 
for  him — anything  in  life — but  take  his  medi- 
cine." 


'<i'i:Ur2Vf 


HOME    OF    GERALD    GRIFFIN. 


THE   RAVEN'S  NEST. 


Her  sire  an  earl — her  dame  of  prince's  blood, 
Bright  as  her  hue,  and  Geraldine  she  hight. 

Sonnet  on  the  Countess  of  Lincoln. 

THE  Fabii  make  not  a  more  distinguished 
figure  in  the  history  of  the  ancient  Roman, 
or  the  Medici  in  that  of  the  modern  Tuscan, 
State,  than  do  the  family  of  the  Geraldines  in  the 
troubled  tale  of  Ireland's  miseries.  Whenever 
the  annals  of  the  island  shall  be  treated  by  a 
competent  pen,  they  will  not  fail  to  be  classed 
by  all  impartial  judges  amongst  the  most  re- 
markable families  in  history.  Their  errors,  and 
perhaps  in  many  instances  their  crimes,  were 
great ;  but  their  undaunted  courage,  their  natu- 
ral eloquence,  their  vigorous  genius,  and  their 
hereditary  open-heartedness  are  qualities  which 
will  be  as  certain  of  awakening  admiration  as 
their  misfortunes  of  exciting  pity.  The  story  of" 
the  earls  of  Kildare  constitutes  such  a  piece  of 
history  as  Sallust  might  be  proud  to  write,  and 
the  genius  of  Plutarch  would  have  delighted  in 
the  pithy  sayings,  heroic  actions,  and  touches  of 
character  in  which  the  annals  of  the  family 
abound. 


38  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

During  the  reign  of  the  Tudors,  a  deadly  feud 
had  raged  for  many  years  between  one  of  the  earls 
of  Kildare  and  a  chieftain — a  branch  of  the  Geral- 
dines,  residing  in  a  distant  part  of  Munster. 
The  Geraldine  conceived  his  rights,  as  well  as 
those  of  his  country,  invaded  by  the  excessive 
rigor  and  even  injustice  with  which  Kildare  (who 
was  Lord  Deputy)  administered  the  government ; 
and  the  earl  was  so  highly  incensed  by  what  he 
called  the  turbulence  and  malice  of  his  kinsman 
that  he  protested  his  determination  not  to  lay 
down  his  arms  until  he  had  compelled  him  to 
make  submission.  "  Albeit,  he  should  have  him  as 
a  common  borderer,  cut  off  by  the  knee."  In  this 
resolution  he  received  the  entire  sanction  of  the 
English  government,  who  seldom  bore  hard  upon 
their  deputies  for  an  excess  of  zeal. 

Outworn  by  continual  defeats,  and  feeling  deeply 
for  the  sufferings  which  his  fruitless  resistance 
had  brought  on  his  dependents,  the  gallant  Ge- 
raldine testified  at  length  his  willingness  to  make 
terms,  and  offered  to  come  in  person  to  the  me- 
tropolis in  order  to  make  a  formal  submission  to 
the  viceroy.  He  was  not  so  despicable  an  enemy 
that  even  the  haughty  earl  was  not  rejoiced  at  his 
proposal.  He  was  received  in  Dublin  with  the 
highest  ceremonies  of  respect  and  joy.  The  earl 
gave  splendid  entertainments,  to  which  many,  not 
only  of  the  substantial  citizens  of  the  Pale,  but  of 
the  native  Irish  chieftains,  were  invited  ;  and  the 
public  places  of  the  city  for   several  days    were 


The  Ravens  Nest.  39 

thronged  with  a  motley  company  of  revellers, 
mingling  with  a  confidence  as  enthusiastic  as  if 
they  had  not  been  for  centuries  as  bitter  enemies 
as  oppression  on  the  one,  and  hate  and  outrage  on 
the  other,  side  could  make  them. 

On  the  second  night  after  the  arrival  of  the 
Gerald ine  in  Dublin,  a  party  of  horse,  bearing  the 
marks  of  long  travel  in  the  jaded  carriage  both 
of  the  animals  and  their  riders,  appeared  upon  the 
borders  of  the  Pale,  which  they  had  entered  by 
one  of  the  northern  roads.  They  were  command- 
ed by  a  young  man  of  an  appearance  at  once  deli- 
cate and  martial.  The  peasants  and  humble  arti- 
sans doffed  their  bonnets  as  they  passed  him  on 
the  road,  and  the  sentinels  saluted  and  suffered 
him  to  go  unquestioned.  As  they  approached  the 
city,  the  sounds  of  rejoicing  which  were  distinctly 
heard  in  the  calm  air  awakened  the  attention  and 
curiosity  of  the  group. 

"  Ride  on  before,  Thomas,"  said  the  young 
officer,  addressing  the  page  who  bore  his  shield 
and  helmet,  "  and  ask  what  feasting  is  toward  in 
the  city." 

The  page  spurred  on  his  horse,  and,  after  making 
enquiry  at  the  booth  of  a  rosy-looking  vender  of 
woollen  stuffs,  returned  to  say  that  the  Geraldine 
was  in  the  city. 

"  The  Geraldine  !  what!  hath  he  taken  it,  then  ?" 

"  Nay,"  cried  the  page,  "  if  it  were  so,  I  question 
whether  the  Pale  would  be  so  orderly.  He  has 
come  to  make  submission  to  the  king." 


40  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

m 

"  To  make  submission  !  The  Geraldine  make 
submission !"  repeated  the  young  man.  "  This 
seems  a  tale  no  less  improbable  than  the  other. 
Alas!  such  wisdom  is  rare  in  a  Geraldine.  The 
poor  isle  has  suffered  deeply  to  the  pride  of  the 
Fitzgeralds.  Poor,  miserable  land  !  Give  me  the 
helmet.  We  must  not  pass  the  Geraldine  un- 
armed. How  long  is  it  now  since  this  quarrel  has 
begun  ?" 

"  Near  sixteen  years,  my  lord." 

"  Thou  sayest  aright.  I  remember  to  have 
heard  of  it  on  my  mother's  knee.  I  well  remember 
how  Kildare  returned  to  the  castle  on  an  autumn 
evening,  all  black  with  dust  and  sweat,  and  how 
she  flew  to  meet  him,  while  I  marked  his  rusty 
javelin,  and  puzzled  my  brains  to  comprehend  its 
use.  I  am  not  so  ignorant  now.  Ill-fated  country  ! 
How  many  lives,  dost  thou  compute,  have  already 
fallen  in  this  feud  ?" 

"  It  is  thought,  my  lord,  some  seventy  or  eighty 
soldiers  of  the  Pale,  with  about  seventeen  thou- 
sand "of  the  Irish,  in  various  encounters  ;  besides, 
castles  sacked,  about  fifty ;  towns  and  villages  de- 
molished to  the  number  of  nineteen;  and  private 
dwellings  of  the  common  sort,  to  the  amount  of 
some  thousand  roofs.  The  Pale,  too,  suffered  loss 
of  property  ;  a  woollen-draper's  booth  destroyed, 
besides  some  twenty  cabins  in  the  suburbs,  laid  in 
ashes." 

"  I  pray  you,  Thomas,  who  might  be  your  ac- 
countant?" 


The  Raven's  Nest. 


41 


"  My  cousin  Simmons,  my  lord,  the  city  bailiff; 
your  lordship  may  remember  him  ?" 

"  Ay,  I  thought  the  computation  had  been  made 
within  the  Pale.  And  what  was  the  beginning  of 
the  strife?" 

"  The  insolent  Geraldine,  my  lord,  had  the  au- 
dacity to  turn  a  troop  of  the  Lord  Deputy's 
horse — " 

"  Out  of  a  widow's  house  upon  his  holding, 
where  they  would  have  taken  up  their  quarters  for 
a  fortnight  in  the  scarce  season.  The  insolent 
Geraldine!  I  long  to  see  the  disloyal  knave. 
Know  you  if  the  lady  Margaret,  his  daughter,  be 
with  him  in  the  city  ?" 
"  My  lord,  the  woollen-draper  spoke  not  of  her." 
"  I  long  to  know  them  both.  Report  speaks 
loudly  of  her,  no  less  than  of  the  Geraldine  him- 
self. But  here's  the  city.  Good-morrow,  masters ! 
Thank  you  heartily,  thank  you  all !  O'Neil  is 
quiet  in  the  north,  my  masters  !  Long  live  the 
King  !     Huzza  !" 

The  last  sentences  were  spoken  as  the  young 
warrior  passed  the  city  gate,  where  he  was  recog- 
nized and  hailed  by  a  holiday  throng  of  the  loyal 
citizens,  with  shouts  of  welcome  that  made  the 
houses  tremble  around  them.  "  Kildare  for  ever! 
Long  live  the  King  !  Huzza  !"  was  echoed  from 
the  city  gate  to  the  very  drawbridge  of  the  castle. 
The  young  nobleman,  who  had,  amid  all  his  gal- 
lantry and  gaiety,  a  certain  air  that  showed  him  to 
be  above  the  reach  of  party  spirit,  received  their 


42  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

congratulations  with  spirit  and  cheerfulness,  but 
without  losing  a  moment's  time  either  to  speak  or 
hear.  The  streets  as  he  passed  presented  an 
appearance  singular  and  altogether  new  to  his 
eye.  The  Irish  green  hanging-bonnet  seemed  as 
common  as  the  cap  of  the  Pale  ;  kernes  who  spoke 
not  a  syllable  of  English  were  gaping  at  the 
splendor  of  the  city  ;  and  citizens  standing  in 
their  booths  stared  with  no  less  amazement  at  the 
unshorn  locks,  wild  looks,  and  woodland  attire 
of  their  new  allies.  Passing  on  to  St.  Thomas's 
Court,  where  the  Lord  Deputy  at  that  time 
transacted  the  business  of  the  goverment,  Sir  Ulick 
Fitzgerald,  the  young  knight  whose  course  we  have 
been  following,  alighted  from  his  horse,  and  sent 
one  of  the  officers  to  inform  the  Lord  Deputy  of 
his  arrival.  He  was  received  by  Kildare,  in  the 
king's  chamber;  and  gave  an  account  of  the  state  of 
affairs  in  the  North,  where  he  had  for  some  months 
past  occupied  the  place  of  Lord  Deputy  himself. 

"  Thou  art  welcome,  Uiick,  from  the  North," 
said  Kildare,  reaching  his  hand  to  his  son,  who 
kissed  it  with  reverence  and  affection.  "  And  now, 
how  hast  thou  done  thy  work,  my  lad?" 

"  Like  a  true  soldier  of  the  Pale,  my  lord,"  re- 
plied Sir  Ulick.  "  I  taught  the  rascals  what  it  was 
to  have  to  do  with  a  friend  of  England.  Thou 
and  our  royal  master  I  am  sure  will  love  me  for 
it." 

"  What  said  O'Neil  at  the  conference  ?" 

"O  my  good  father!  bid  me  not  repeat  his  in- 


The  Raven  s  Nest.  43 

solence.  He  said  his  lands  and  castles  were  in 
the  keeping  of  his  ancestors,  before  the  very  name 
of  Ireland  had  sounded  in  the  ear  of  a  Plantage- 
net;  that  we  used  our  power  cruelly.  (We,  my 
lord,  cruel!  We!  And  I  could  aver,  upon  mine 
honor  as  a  knight,  we  have  not  piked  above  twelve 
score  of  the  rascal's  Irishry,  except  on  holidays, 
when  we  wanted  exercise  for  the  hobbelers.  We 
cruel !)  He  complained  also  of  trespass  on  the 
property  of  his  dependents.  (What !  had  we 
touched  their  lives,  my  lord  ?)  He  said  all  men 
were  naturally  free ;  that  he  derived  his  posses- 
sions from  his  progenitors,  not  from  the  royal 
gift;  and  many  things  beside,  for  which  I  would 
have  set  his  head  upon  his  castle's  gate,  but,  as 
your  lordship  recommended  clemency,  I  only 
hanged  a  cousin  of  his  whom  we  caught  in  the 
camp  after  dark." 

"  Ulick,"  said  the  earl,  "  thou  art  a  bantering 
villain  ;  and  I  warn  thee,  as  the  Geraldines  stand 
not  overwell  with  Tudor,  how  thou  sufferest  such 
humors  to  appear,  and  before  whom.  It  has  been 
remarked,  and  by  those  who  might  not  pierce 
thine  irony,  that  thou  art  rather  a  favorer  of  these 
turbulent  insurgents.  Thou  art  overmild  with 
the  rebels." 

"  It  is  a  mending  fault,  my  lord,"  said  Sir  Ulick  ; 
"  in  the  service  of  Tudor  it  will  soon  wear  off." 

"  I  tell  thee,"  said  the  earl,  "  it  is  thought  by 
many  that  thine  heart  is  less  with  the  people  of  the 
Pale  than  mijjht  become  the  descendant  of  those 


44  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

who  have  grown  old  in  the  royal  confidence  and 
favor,  and  transmitted  both  as  a  legacy  to  their 
posterity.  Thou  hast  learned  the  language  of 
these  rascal  Irishry." 

"  I  confess  my  crime,  my  lord,"  replied  the 
knight ;  "  I  know  my  country's  tongue." 

"  Thou  lovest  their  braggart  poetry,  and  villan- 
ous  antiquities ;  and  art  known  to  keep  in  thy 
train  a  scoundrel  harper,  who  sings  thee  to  sleep 
at  night  with  tales  of  burnings  and  rapines,  done 
by  their  outlaw  chiefs  upon  the  honest  subjects  of 
the  crown." 

"  I  confess  my  fault,  my  lord.  I  love  sweet 
music." 

"  Thou  hast  even  been  heard  at  times,"  con- 
tinued the  earl,  "  to  sing  a  verse  of  their  howling 
ditties  in  the  very  precincts  of  the  castle." 

"  Nay,  nay,  good  father,"  cried  the  knight,  "if 
you  will  impute  my  tuneful  voice  as  treasonous, 
blame  Nature  and  not  me,  for  I  had  it  of  her.  I 
confess  myself  guilty  in  that  point  also.  There  is 
a  rebel  melody  in  my  voice  that  I  cannot  well  be 
rid  of." 

"  Ay,  banter,  banter,  villain,"  said  the  Lord  De- 
puty. "  I  tell  thee,  in  a  word,  to  treasure  up  what 
I  have  said,  nor  presume  so  far  upon  thy  loyal 
deeds  to  excuse  disloyal  words.  Princes  are  jeal- 
ous of  a  smile.  Thou  must  bear  in  mind  that  it 
is  a  conquered  race  thou  hast  to  deal  withal,  and 
add  a  ferule  to  the  rod  of  government." 

"  I  shall  learn,  my  lord,  I  hope,  as  aptly  as  my 


The  Rave  it  s  Nest.  45 

predecessors.     Ere  I  am  twice   Lord  Deputy,  I 
shall  amend." 

"  And  now,"  said  the  earl,  "  to  thy  chamber,  and 
prepare  to  meet  the  Geraldine  at  evening.  In  a 
few  days,  he  makes  formal  submission  to  the  King-, 
before  the  Lords  of  Council  at  Kilmainham  Castle  ; 
and  to-night  he  must  here  be  entertained  as  be- 
comes a  Geraldine  of  his  birth  and  breeding. 
Farewell !" 

Spirited,  lively,  and  yet  filled  with  generous 
affections,  the  young  knight  was  no  less  calculated 
to  attract  admiration  in  the  hall  than  in  the  field. 
He  was  early  at  the  festival,  and  met  the  Geral- 
dine in  his  father's  presence.  The  latter  was  a 
swart,  stout-built  man,  with  a  brow  that  spoke  of 
many  dangers  braved,  and  difficulties  withstood, 
if  not  overcome.  Unaccustomed  to  the  polished 
raillery  of  a  court,  the  stubborn  chief  was  some- 
what disposed  at  first  to  be  offended  with  Sir 
Ulick,  who  addressed  him  in  a  tone  of  ironical 
reproof,  d  upbraided  him  in  eloquent  terms 
with  thZ.  unreasonableness  and  selfishness  of  his 
withholding  from  the  conquerors,  possessions  and 
immunities  which  he  and  his  ancestors  had  now 
so  long  enjoyed,  and  which  it  was  but  fair  that 
they  should  yield  at  least  to  those  poorer  adven- 
turers whose  services  the  Tudors  had  no  other 
means  of  rewarding.  "  Did  the  Geraldine,  or  his 
confederates,  consider  what  the  Tudors  owed 
those  men,  to  whom  they  were  indebted  for  the 
subjugation  of  so  large  a  province?   And  would 


46  Half  Hours  ivith  Irish  Authors. 

they  be  so  ungenerous  as  to  withhold  from  the 
sovereign  the  means  of  recompensing  so  palpable 
a  public  service,  etc.  ?" 

The  Geraldine,  who  did  not  understand  irony, 
was  observed  two  or  three  times  to  bend  his 
brows  upon  the  youth,  but  had  his  ire  removed  by 
some  gracious  turn  in  the  harangue,  introduced 
with  timely  promptitude.  The  hall  of  the  festival 
was  now  thrown  open;  and  Sir  Ulick,  standing 
at  the  farther  end,  summoned  to  his  side  his  favor- 
ite attendant,  Thomas  Butler,  from  whom  he  en- 
quired the  names  and  quality  of  such  guests  as,  in 
entering,  had  attracted  his  attention. 

"  I  pray  thee,  gentle  Thomas,"  said  Sir  Ulick, 
"  what  man  is  that  with  a  cast  in  his  right  eye, 
and  a  coolun  as  thick  and  bushy  as  a  fox's  tail,  and 
as  carroty-red  withal,  and  a  sword  that  seems  at 
deadly  feud  with  its  owner's  calves?" 

"  Who  ?  he,  my  lord  ?  That  is  O'Carroll,  who 
thrashed  MacMorrough  at  the  Boyne,  for  burn- 
ing his  cousin's  castle  and  piking  his  children  in 
the  bog." 

"  And  who  is  she  who  hangs  upon  his  arm  ?" 

"  His  daughter  Nell,  my  lord,  who  ate  the  tip 
of  MacMorrough's  liver,  with  a  flagon  of  wine, 
for  dinner,  on  the  day  after  the  battle." 

"  Sweet  creature  !  And  that  round,  short,  flashy, 
merry  little  man,  with  his  chain?" 

"  That  is  the  Mayor,  my  lord." 

"  And  the  lofty  lady  who  comes  after,  like  a 
grenadier  behind  a  drummer?" 


The  Raven  s  Nest.  47 

"  The  lady-mayoress,  my  lord,  who  took  her 
husband  upon  her  shoulders,  and  ran  off  with  him 
to  the  city,  when  he  would  fain  have  fought 
single-handed  with  an  enormous  O'Toole,  who 
set  upon  them  as  they  were  taking  a  morning  walk 
to  Cullenswood." 

"  Her  stature  stood  him  in  good  stead.  And 
who  are  they  who  follow  close  behind  ?" 

"  Burke  of  Clanricard,  and  O'Moore,  who 
hanged  and  quartered  the  four  widows  in  Offally 
for  speaking  against  the  cosherings  on  the  poor." 

"  And  the  ladies  ?" 

"  Their  wives  and  daughters,  who  were  by  at 
the  quartering." 

"A  goodly  company.     But,  hush  !" 

"  What  is  it,  my  lord,  that  you  would  ask  ?" 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  Canst  thou  teil  me,  Thomas, 
what  lady  is  that  in  yellow,  as  far  beyond  the  rest 
in  beauty  of  person  as  in  the  graceful  simplicity 
of  her  attire  ?" 

"  That,  my  lord,"  said  the  attendant,  "is  your 
cousin,  Margaret  Fitzgerald,  and  the  only  daughter 
of  the  Geraldine." 

"  Fame,  that  exaggerates  all  portraitures,  fell 
short  in  hers.  My  cousin  Margaret!  Away, 
good  Thomas,  I  care  not  to  learn  more." 

Approaching  the  circle,  of  which  the  fair  Ger- 
aldine formed  a  chief  attraction,  Sir  Ulick  was  in- 
troduced to  his  young  relative.  The  evening 
passed  happily  away  in  her  society  ;  and  before 
many  days  they  were  better  friends  than,  perhaps, 


48  Half  Hoars  with  Irish  Authors. 

themselves  suspected,  or  the  parents  of  either 
could  have  readily  approved.  Both  freely  com- 
municated their  thoughts  and  wishes  on  the  con- 
dition of  their  families  and  country.  Both  mourn- 
ed the  divided  interests  that  distracted  the  latter, 
and  the  wretched  jealousies  which  seemed  des- 
tined to  keep  the  well-wishers  of  the  island  for 
ever  disunited  in  themselves,  and,  therefore, 
utterly  incapable  of  promoting  her  advantage. 
Such  themes  as  these  formed  the  subject  of  con- 
versation one  evening,  while  the  dance  went  gaily 
forward,  and  the  hall  of  the  banquet  seemed  more 
than  usually  thronged  with  brilliant  dresses. 

"  Now,  at  least,  cousin  Margaret,"  said  Sir  Ulick, 
in  a  gentle  voice,  "  we  may  promise  ourselves  bet- 
ter times.  Our  fathers  seem  better  agreed  at 
every  interview  ;  and  so  nearly  do  their  tempers 
harmonize  that  I  am  sure  it  needed  but  an  earlier 
intimacy  to  render  them  as  fervent  friends  as 
they  have  been  strenuous — Hark  !  What  is  that 
noise?" 

While  he  spoke,  the  sounds  of  mirth  were  in- 
terrupted in  a  startling  manner  by  loud  and  angry 
voices  at  the  end  of  the  hall  which  was  occupied 
by  the  Lord  Deputy  and  other  chieftains  of  every 
party.  Before  time  was  given  for  question  or  re- 
ply, the  wordy  clamor  was  exchanged  for  the 
clash  of  weapons,  and  in  an  instant  the  scene  of 
merriment  was  changed  to  a  spectacle  of  horror 
and  affright.  The  music  ceased,  the  dance  was 
broken  up,  and  the  women  shrieked  ;   while  of  the 


The  Raven  s  Nest.  49 

men,  some  joined  the  combatants,  whom  others 
thought  to  separate  by  flinging  cloaks,  scarfs,  caps, 
and  various  articles  of  dress  across  the  glancing 
weapons.  A  truce  was  thus  enforced  ;  and  Sir 
Ulick  learned  with  indignation  that  the  hot-blood- 
ed Geraldine  had  struck  his  father.  The  news 
soon  spread  into  the  streets,  where  a  strife  began 
that  was  not  so  easily  to  be  appeased.  The  fol- 
lowers of  the  Geraldine,  whose  hearts  were  never 
with  the  treaty  of  submission,  seemed  glad  of  the 
occasion  given  to  break  it  off.  They  fell  upon  the 
citizens,  who  were  not  slow  in  flying  to  their  wea- 
pons, and  a  scene  of  tumult  ensued  which  made 
the  streets  re-echo  from  the  riverside  to  the  hills. 
The  Geraldines  were  driven  Irom  the  city,  not 
without  loss,  and  their  chieftain  found  himself  on 
horseback  without  the  walls,  and  further  from  the 
royal  countenance  than  ever.  He  was  with  diffi- 
culty able  to  rescue  his  daughter,  who,  on  the  first 
sound  of  strife,  had  immediately  placed  herself  by 
his  side. 

The  war  now  recommenced  with  redoubled  fury. 
The  Lord  Deputy  received  orders  from  London 
to  have  the  Geraldine  taken,  dead  or  alive,  and  set 
his  head,  according  to  the  fashion  of  those  times, 
upon  the  castle  gate.  In  obedience  to  these  in- 
structions, which  needed  not  the  concurrence  of 
his  own  hearty  good-will,  Kildare  marched  an 
army  to  the  south,  and,  after  several  engagements, 
laid  siege  to  Geraldine  in  one  of  his  strongest 
castles.     The  ruins   still  occupy  a  solitary  crag, 


50  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

surrounded  by  a  rushy  marsh,  at  a  little  distance 
from  New  Auburn.  The  place  was  naturally 
strong  ;  and  the  desperation  of  the  besieged  made 
it  impregnable.  After  several  fruitless  efforts,  at- 
tended by  severe  loss  to  the  assailants,  to  possess 
themselves  of  the  castle  by  storm,  it  was  placed  in 
a  state  of  blockade,  and  the  Lord  Deputy,  encamp- 
ing in  the  neighborhood,  left  famine  to  complete 
the  work  which  his  arms  had  failed  to  accomplish. 

With  different  feelings,  Sir  Ulick,  who  held  a 
subordinate  command  in  the  army  of  his  father, 
beheld  the  days  run  by,  which  were  to  end  in  the 
surrender,  or  (as  was  more  probable,  from  the 
well-known  character  of  the  Geraldine)  in  the 
destruction  and  death  of  the  besieged.  Two 
months  rolled  on,  and  there  appeared  no  symptom 
on  the  part  of  the  latter  that  indicated  a  desire  to 
come  to  terms.  Such,  likewise,  was  the  fidelity 
with  which  those  feudal  chiefs  were  served  by 
their  followers,  that  not  a  single  deserter  escaped 
from  the  castle  to  reveal  the  real  state  of  its  de- 
fenders. They  appeared  upon  the  battlement  as 
hearty  and  as  well  accoutred  as  on  the  first  day 
of  the  blockade. 

Meantime  there  was  no  lack  of  spirit  in  the 
castle.  The  storehouse  was  well  supplied  for  a 
blockade  of  many  months,  and  the  Geraldine  de- 
pended much  on  a  letter  he  had  sent  beneath  the 
wings  of  a  carrier-pigeon  to  a  distant  part  of  Des- 
mond. The  days  passed  merrily  betweeu  watch- 
ing and  amusement,  and  the  frequent  sounds  of 


The  Rave  lis  Nest.  51 

mirth  and  dancing  from  within  showed  that  the 
besieged  where  thinking  of  something  else  besides 
giving  up  the  fortress. 

One  evening,  Margaret,  retiring  to  her  chamber, 
gave  orders  to  her  woman  to  attend  her.  The 
latter  obeyed,  and  was  employed  in  assisting  her 
lady  to  undress,  when  the  following  conversation 
passed  between  them  : 

"  You  have  not  since  discovered  by  whom  the 
letter  was  left  in  the  eastern  bolt-hole?" 

The  woman  answered  in  the  negative. 

"  Take  this,"  said  Margaret,  handing  the  maid 
a  small  wooden  tablet,  as  white  as  snow,  except 
where  it  was  marked  by  her  own  neat  characters 
— "  take  this,  and  lay  it  exactly  where  the  former 
was  deposited.  Yet  stay  !  Let  me  compare  the 
notes  again,  to  be  sure  that  I  have  worded  mine 
answer  aright :  ■  Sweet  Margaret :  Be  persuaded 
by  one  who  loves  thy  welfare.  Let  thy  sweet 
voice  urge  the  Geraldine  to  give  up  the  fortress 
which  he  must  yield  perforce  ere  long,  and  with 
sorer  loss  perchance  than  that  of  life  and  property. 
Thy  friendly  enemy,  unknown."  Well  said, 
my  friendly  enemy,  not  quite,  perhaps,  so  un- 
known as  thou  esteemest.  Now  for  mine  answer: 
'  Kind  friendly  enemy  :  Thine  eloquences  will 
be  much  better  spent  on  Kildare,  in  urging 
him  to  raise  the  siege,  than  my  poor  accents  on 
the  stubborn  Geraldine.  Wherefore  I  commend 
thee  to  thy  task,  and  warn  to  beware  of  my  kins- 
men's bills,  which,  how  shrewdly  they  can  bite, 


52  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

none  ought  to  know  better  than  the  Lord  Deputy 
and  his  followers.     Thy  thankful  foe." 

The  tablet  was  laid  on  the  window,  and  dis- 
appeared in  the  course  of  the  night.  On  that 
which  followed,  while  Margaret  and  her  maid 
were  occupied,  as  before,  in  preparing  for  rest,  a 
noise  at  the  window  aroused  the  attention  of  the 
mistress,  and  struck  the  woman  mute  with  terror. 
Dismissing  the  latter  into  the  sleeping-chamber, 
which  lay  adjacent,  and  carefully  shutting  the 
door,  the  daughter  of  the  Geraldine  advanced  to 
the  window,  and  unbarred  the  curtained  lattice. 
A  brilliant  moon  revealed  the  lake,  in  the  midst 
of  which  the  castle  rose  upon  the  summit  of  a  rock, 
the  guarded  causeway  by  which  it  was  connect- 
ed with  the  shore,  the  distant  camp  of  Kildare, 
and  the  tranquil  woods  and  hills  extending  far 
around.  Beneath  her,  on  the  rock,  appeared  a 
figure,  the  identity  of  which  she  could  not  for  an 
instant  mistake ;  but  how  it  came  thither,  to  what 
intent,  and  wherefore  undetected,  was  more  than 
she  had  skill  to  penetrate.  Perhaps,  like  a  second 
Leander,  he  had  braved  the  waves  with  no  other 
oar  than  his  own  vigorous  limbs.  But  the  stern 
of  a  little  currach.  peeping  from  beneath  the 
overhanging  rock,  gave  intimation  that  Sir  Ulick 
(for  he  indeed  it  was)  knew  a  trick  worth  two  of 
Leander's.  Waving  his  hand  to  Margaret,  he 
ascended  the  formidable  crag  which  still  separat- 
ed him  from  the  window  of  her  apartment,  and 
came  even  within  whispering  distance.     He  did 


The  Ravcrfs  Nest.  53 

but  come  to  be  sure  that  she  at  least  was  not  in 
want  of  food.  It  so  happened  that  this  side  of  the 
rock  alone  was  unguarded,  being  supposed  im- 
pregnable from  the  steepness  of  its  ascent,  as  well 
as  of  that  of  the  opposing  shore.  Sir  Ulick,  how- 
ever, gliding  under  the  shadow  of  the  distant  cliff, 
and  only  venturing  to  dart  for  the  isle  when  the  sky 
was  darkest,  had  already  visited  it  for  three  suc- 
cessive nights,  and  seemed,  at  every  new  venture, 
more  secure  of  his  secret.  The  alarm  of  Margaret, 
however,  was  excessive.  The  discovery  of  an  in- 
tercourse would  be  certain  death  to  one  or  both  ; 
for  the  Geraldine,  in  a  case  of  treason,  whether 
real  or  apparent,  would  not  spare  his  nearest  blood. 
The  same,  as  Sir  Ulick  was  himself  aware,  was 
true  of  the  Lord  Deputy.  Made  bold,  however 
by  impunity,  he  quieted  the  lady's  fears,  and  with- 
out much  difficulty  communicated  to  her  mind 
the  security  of  his  own.  His  visits  were  continu- 
ed for  a  week  without  interruption ;  after  which 
period,  the  fair  Geraldine  observed  with  per- 
plexity and  uneasiness  that  the)7  terminated  ab- 
ruptly, nor  did  she  for  an  equal  space  of  time  see 
or  hear  anything  that  could  account  for  this  sud- 
den disappearance  of  her  accomplished  friend. 

One  night,  as  she  satin  her  window,  looking  out 
with  the  keenest  anxiety  for  the  little  wicker  skiff, 
she  observed,  with  a  thrill  of  eagerness  and  de- 
light, some  dark  object  gliding  close  beneath  the 
cliffs  upon  the  opposite  shore.  The  unclouded 
brightness  of  the  moon,  however,  prevented  the 


54  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

approach  of  the  boat;  and  her  suspense  had  reach- 
ed a  painful  height,  before  the  sky  grew  dark. 
At  length  a  friendly  cloud  extended  its  veil  be- 
neath the  face  of  the  unwelcome  satellite;  and  in 
a  few  minutes  the  plash  of  oars,  scarce  louder  tnan 
the  ripple  of  the  wavelets  against  the  rock,  gave 
token  to  the  watchful  ear  of  Margaret  of  the 
arrival  of  the  long-expected  knight.  A  figure 
ascends  the  rock ;  the  lattice  is  unbarred;  there 
is  sufficient  light  to  peruse  the  form  and  features 
of  the  stranger.  It  is  not  Sir  Ulick,  but  Thomas 
Butler,  the  fdus  Achates  and  only  confidant  of  the 
youthful  knight. 

"  What,  Thomas,  is  it  thou  ?  Where  is  thy 
lord?" 

"  Ah  !  lady,  it  is  all  over  with  Sir  Ulick  !  " 

"  How  sayest  thou  ?" 

"  He   is    taken,    lady,    by    the    Lord    Deputy's  • 
servants,  and  stands  condemned  in  the  article  of 
treason." 

These  dreadful  tidings,  acting  on  spirits  already 
depressed  by  a  sudden  disappointment,  proved 
too  much  for  Margaret's  strength,  and  she  fainted 
away  in  the  window.  On  reviving,  she  obtained 
from  Thomas  a  full  detail  of  the  circumstances 
which  had  occurred  to  Sir  Ulick  since  his  last 
appearance  at  the  island,  and  the  cause  in  which 
they  had  their  origin. 

About  a  week  before,  the  Lord  Deputy  was 
sitting  at  evening  in  his  tent,  when  a  scout  arrived 
to  solicit   a   private  audience.      It  was  granted ; 


The  Raven's  Nest.  55 

and  the  man  averred  that  lie  had  discovered  the 
existence  of  a  treasonable  communication  between 
the  inhabitants  of  the  island  and  the  shore.  In  his 
indignation  at  this  announcement,  Kildare  made 
a  vow  that  the  wretch,  whoever  he  was,  should 
be  cast  alive  into  the  Raven's  Nest ;  and  appoint- 
ed a  party  to  watch  on  the  following-  night  on  the 
shore  beside  the  cliffs,  for  the  return  of  the  traitor 
from  the  rock.  Having  given  the  men  strict 
injunctions  to  bring  the  villain  bound  before  him 
the  instant  he  should  be  apprehended,  he  ordered 
a  torch  to  be  lighted  in  his  tent,  and  remained  up 
to  await  the  issue. 

Towards  morning,  footsteps  were  heard  ap- 
proaching the  entrance  of  the  tent.  The  sentinel 
challenged,  and  admitted  the  party.  The  astonish- 
ment of  Kildare  may  be  conceived,  when,  in  the 
fettered  and  detected  traitor,  against  whom  he 
had  been  fostering  his  liveliest  wrath,  he  beheld 
his  gallant  son,  the  gay  and  heroic  Ulick  !  The 
latter  did  not  deny  that  he  had  made  several  night- 
ly visits  to  the  island;  but  denied  with  scorn  the 
imputation  of  treasonable  designs,  although  he 
refused  to  give  any  account  of  what  his  real  mo- 
tives were.  After  long  endeavoring,  no  less  by 
menace  than  entreaty,  to  induce  him  to  reveal 
the  truth,  the  Lord  Deputy  addressed  him  with 
a  kindness  which  affected  him  more  than  his 
severity. 

'T  believe  thee,  Ulick,"  he  said;  "I  am  sure 
thou    art   no    traitor.      Nevertheless,    thy    father 


56  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

must  not  be  thy  judge.  Go  plead  thy  cause  be- 
fore the  Lords  of  Council,  and  see  if  they  will 
yield  thee  as  ready  a  credit.  I  fear  thou  wilt  find 
it  otherwise  ;  but  thou  hast  thyself  to  blame." 

A  court  was  formed  in  the  course  of  a  few  days 
consisting  of  Kildare  himself,  as  resident,  and 
a  few  of  the  Council,  who  were  summoned  for  the 
purpose.  The  facts  proved  before  them  were 
those  already  stated ;  and  Sir  Ulick  persisted  in 
maintaining  the  same  silence  with  respect  to  his 
designs  or  motives  as  he  had  done  before  his 
father.  It  seemed  impossible,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, to  acquit  him  ;  and,  having  received 
the  verdict  of  the  court,  the  Lord  Deputy  gave 
orders  for  the  fulfilment  of  his  dreadful  vow. 

On  the  night  after  his  sentence,  his  attendant, 
Thomas  Butler,  obtained  permission  to  visit  him 
in  his  dungeon ;  and  received  a  hint  from  Kildare, 
as  he  granted  it,  that  he  would  not  fare  the  worse 
for  drawing  his  master's  secret  from  him.  Ulick, 
however,  was  inflexible.  Fearing  the  danger  to 
Margaret's  life,  no  less  than  to  her  reputation,  he 
maintained  his  resolution  of  suffering  the  sentence 
to  be  executed,  without  further  question.  "  The 
Lords  of  Council,"  he  said,  "  were  as  well  aware 
of  his  services  to  the  king's  government  as  he  could 
make  them ;  and,  if  those  services  were  not  suffi- 
cient to  procure  him  credit  in  so  slight  a  matter, 
he  would  take  no  further  pains  to  earn  it." 

Disappointed  and  alarmed,  on  the  eve  of  the 
morning    appointed   for   the   execution,    Thomas 


The  Raven  $  Nest.  57 

Butler,  at  the  hazard  of  his  life,  determined  to  seek 
the  lady  Margaret  herself,  and  acquaint  her  with 
what  had  occurred.  The  daughter  of  Geraldine 
did  not  hesitate  long  about  the  course  she  should 
pursue.  Wrapping  a  man's  cloak  around  her 
figure,  with  the  hood  (for  in  those  days,  fair  read- 
er, the  gentlemen  wore  hoods)  over  her  head, 
she  descended  from  the  window,  and  succeeded 
in  reaching  the  boat.  A  few  minutes'  rapid  row- 
ing brought  them  to  the  shore.  It  was  already 
within  an  hour  of  dawn,  and  the  sentence  was  to 
be  completed  before  sunrise.  Having  made  fast 
the  currach  in  a  secret  place,  they  proceeded 
amongst  crag  and  copse  in  the  direction  of  the 
Raven's  Nest.  The  dismal  chasm  was  screened 
by  a  group  of  alder  and  brushwood,  which  con- 
cealed it  from  the  view  until  the  passenger  ap- 
proached its  very  brink.  As  they  came  within 
view  of  the  place,  the  sight  of  gleaming  spears 
and  yellow  uniforms  amongst  the  trees  made  the 
heart  of  Margaret  sink  with  apprehension. 

"  Run  on  before,  good  Thomas !"  she  exclaimed  ; 
"  delay  their  horrid  purpose  but  a  moment.  Say 
one  approaches  who  can  give  information  of  the 
whole." 

The  fetters,  designed  no  more  to  be  unbound, 
were  already  fastened  on  the  wrists  and  ankles 
of  the  young  soldier  when  his  servant  arrived, 
scarce  able  to  speak  for  weariness,  to  stay  the 
execution.  He  had  discovered,  he  said,  the  whole 
conspiracy,  and    there  was  a  witness  coming   on 


58  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

who  could  reveal  the  object  and  the  motive  of  the 
traitors,  for  there  were  more  than  one.  At  the 
same  instant,  Margaret  appeared,  close  wrapt  in 
her  cloak,  to  confirm  the  statement  of  Butler.  At 
the  request  of  the  latter,  the  execution  was  delayed 
while  a  courier  was  despatched  to  the  Lord 
Deputy  with  intelligence  of  the  interruption  that 
had  taken  place.  In  a  few  minutes  he  returned, 
bringing  a  summons  to  the  whole  party  to  appear 
before  the  Lords  of  Council.  They  complied 
without  delay,  none  being  more  perplexed  than 
Sir  Ulick  himself  at  the  meaning  of  this  strange 
announcement. 

On  arriving  in  the  camp,  the  unknown  infor- 
mant entreated  to  be  heard  in  private  by  the 
Council.  The  request  was  granted  ;  and  Margaret, 
still  closely  veiled,  was  conducted  to  the  hall  in 
which  the  judge  sat.  On  being  commanded  to 
uncover  her  head,  she  replied  : 

"  My  lords,  I  trust  the  tale  I  have  to  tell  may 
not  require  that  I  should  make  known  the  person 
of  the  teller.  My  Lord  Deputy,  to  you  the  drift 
of  my  story  must  have  the  nearest  concern. 
When  you  bade  the  Geraldine  to  your  court  of 
Dublin,  he  was  accompanied  by  an  only  daughter, 
Margaret,  whom  your  son  Ulick  saw  and  loved. 
He  was  not  without  confessing  his  affection,  and 
I  am  well  assured  that  it  was  not  unanswered. 
On  the  very  evening,  my  Lord  Deputy,  before 
that  most  unhappy  affray  which  led  to  your  dis- 
union, and  to  the  dissolution  of  our — of  Sir  Ulick's 


The  Raven's  Nest.  59 

hopes,  a  mutual  avowal  had  been  made,  and  a 
mutual  pledge  of  faith  (modestly,  my  lords)  ex- 
changed, always  under  the  favor  of  our — of  the 
noble  parents  of  the  twain.  My  Lords,  I  have  it 
under  proof  that  the  visits  of  Sir  Ulick  were 
made  to  the  Lady  Margaret,  that  to  no  other 
individual  of  the  castle  were  they  known,  and 
that  no  weightier  converse  ever  passed  between 
them  than  such  silly  thoughts  of  youthful  affection 
as  may  not  be  repeated  before  grave  and  reverend 
ears  like  those  to  which  I  speak." 

"  And  what  may  be  thy  proof,  stranger?"  said 
the  Lord  Deputy,  with  a  tenderness  of  voice 
which  showed  the  anxiety  her  talc  excited  in  his 
mind. 

"  The  word  of  Margaret  Fitzgerald,"  replied 
the  witness,  as  she  dropped  the  mantle  from  her 
shoulders. 

The  apparition  of  the  Geraldine's  daughter  in 
the  council-chamber  gave  a  wonderful  turn  to 
the  proceedings.  Kildare  was  the  first  to  speak. 
He  arose  from  his  seat,  and,  approaching  the  spot 
where  the  spirited  young  maiden  stood,  took  her 
hand  with  kindness  and  affection. 

"In  truth,  sweet  kinswoman,"  he  said,  "thou 
hast  staked  a  sufficient  testimony.  And  to  be 
sure  that  it  be  so  with  all,  as  it  be  with  Kildare,  I 
promise  thee  to  back  it  with  my  sword-;  and  it 
shall  go  hard  but  thy  honest-hearted  speech  shall 
save  the  Geraldine,  his  lands  and  towers  to  boot. 
My  lords,  I  think  I  see  by  your  countenances,  that 


60  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

you  deem  the  lady's  tale  a  truth.  Then  summon 
Ulick  hither,  and  let  a  flag  of  truce  be  sent  to  the 
Geraldine,  to  let  him  know  that  his  child  is  in  safe- 
keeping-. The  Raven's  Nest  has  taught  me  what 
he  feels." 

The  chroniclers  of  New  Auburn  conclude  their 
story  by  relating  that  the  promise  of  the  Lord 
Deputy  was  fulfilled ;  that  the  affection  of  the 
heroic  pair  received  the  sanction  of  their  parents  ; 
and  that,  whenever  afterwards  in  their  wedded 
life  a  cloud  seemed  gathering  at  their  castle 
hearth,  the  recollection  of  the  Raven's  Nest  was 
certain  to  bring  sunshine  to  the  hearts  of  both. 


SIR   DOWLING  O'HARTIGAN. 


"Lochiel,  Lochiel,  beware  of  the  day 
When  the  lowlands  shall  meet  thee  in  battle  array ; 
For  the  field  of  the  dead  rushes  red  on  my  sight, 
And  the  clans  of  Culloden  are  scattered  in  flight." 

LochieVs   Warning. 

AMONG  the  bravest  of  the  followers  of  the 
celebrated  Prince  Murrough  O'Brien,  whose 
valor  and  devotion  are  not  forgotten  on  his  native 
soil,  was  a  knight  named  Sir  Dowling  O'Harti- 
gan,  whose  character,  like  that  of  all  the  brighter 
ornaments  of  Irish  chivalry,  was  a  mixture  of 
northern  honor,  of  oriental  fervor  and  devotion, 
and  of  the  deepest  and  sincerest  religious  feeling. 
In  reading  the  accounts  of  other  days,  the  pride 
of  modern  times  takes  umbrage  at  the  profound 
humility  which  is  traced  out  amid  the  glorious 
workings  of  old  heroic  zeal,  and  the  sordid  levity 
of  our  commercial  temperament  is  ready  to  scoff 
at  the  deeply  seated  and  unselfish  devotion  which 
gave  to  the  chivalry  of  the  middle  ages  more 
than  half  its  grandeur.  In  those  days,  the  heart 
of  mankind  was  still  profoundly  impressed  with 
those  great  truths  which,  by  keeping  continually 
before  the  mind  the  transitory  nature  of  all  earthly 


62  Half  Hours  with  I  visit  Authors. 

things,  are  best  calculated  to  detach  it  from  the 
baser  interests,  to  elevate  its  desires,  and  enlarge 
its  views.  But  what,  gentlemen,  has  a  character 
of  the  middle  ages  to  do  with  my  story  ?  And  I 
feel  conscious  indeed  of  a  somewhat  ponderous 
commencement  for  a  mere  fairy  tale  ;  for  such, 
after  all,  is  the  legend  of  Sir  Dowling  O'Hartigan. 
Everybody  who  knows  anything  of  Irish  his- 
tory must  have  heard  of  Brian  Boru.  This  we 
assume  as  a  postulate,  without  which  we  can 
proceed  no  further.  It  is  equally  notorious  that 
in  the  course  of  his  reign  he  met  with  no  little 
annoyance  from  those  unruly  neighbors  called  the 
Danes,  who  had  now  for  more  than  three  centuries 
exercised  a  barbarous  tyranny  over  the  original 
inhabitants  of  the  isle ;  sometimes  carrying 
it  with  a  high  hand,  and  sometimes  suffering 
severely  in  the  efforts  made  by  the  latter  to  rid 
themselves  of  their  unfeeling  assailants.  Amongst 
the  most  distinguished  of  those  native  warriors 
who  endeavored  to  aid  the  Ard-Righ,  or  Arch- 
king  Brian  in  his  battles  against  the  lawless 
Scandinavian,  was  the  knight  whose  name  I  have 
adopted  as  the  title  of  my  legend.  None  wielded 
the  I  ami  or  the  battle-axe  with  a  more  fatal  skill ; 
none  stood  more  firm  in  the  fight ;  and  none 
appeared  so  indifferent  to  the  reputation  which 
his  deeds  had  won  him,  as  Sir  Dowling  O'Harti- 
gan. He  fought  not  for  fame,  nor  power,  nor 
wealth,  nor  for  any  selfish  end,  but  purely  for  his 
duty — duty  to  his  prince,  to  his  countrv,  and  to 


Sir  Dowling  O'Ifartigan.  63 

heaven !  Thus  despising  death,  not  from  animal 
temperament  alone,  or  the  greediness  of  ambition, 
but  on  the  principles  of  right  reason,  his  valor  was 
as  constant  and  steadfast  as  it  was  heroic. 

It  was  a  few  days  before  the  famous  battle  of 
Clontarf,  in  which  the  venerable  monarch  gave 
his  enemies  a  final  overthrow,  and  lost  his  own 
life,  that  Prince  Murrough  received  the  orders 
of  the  Ard-Righ  to  be  present,  with  all  the  force 
he  could  muster,  at  the  royal  camp  within  a  stated 
time.  At  the  moment  when  the  royal  order 
arrived,  Sir  Dowling  O'Hartigan  was  seated  at 
the  table  of  the  prince.  He  immediately  rose, 
and  requested  permission  to  return  to  his  own 
home,  in  order  to  muster  all  the  force  he  could 
command,  and  to  bid  adieu  to  his  wife  and  family  ; 
for  it  was  foreseen  that  many  a  warrior  would  leave 
home  for  the  approaching  contest  who  might  never 
return.  The  prince  gave  him  permission  to 
depart,  after  requesting  him  to  be  punctual  as 
to  the  day  of  joining  them  with  his  force. 

Night  had  fallen  before  Sir  Dowling  reached 
the  dreary  wilds  of  Burrin,  in  which  his  house 
was  situated.  The  sky  was  dark  and  stormy,  and 
the  knight  commanded  his  footboy,  or  daltin 
(whose  duty  it  ordinarily  was  to  run  by  his  master's 
side,  holding  the  stirrup),  to  mount  on  his  crupper, 
and  to  keep  his  seat  as  well  as  he  might  behind 
him.  Thus  doubly  freighted,  it  was  matter  of 
wonder  to  master  and  squire  with  how  much  life 
and  vigor  the  little  hobby  continued  its  journey. 


64  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

It  was  interrupted,  however,  in  rather  a  singular 
manner.  At  a  gloomy  turn  in  the  road  the  hob- 
by stopped  with  so  much  suddenness,  that  the 
two  riders,  were  it  not  for  Sir  Dowling's  supe- 
rior horsemanship,  would,  by  the  impetus  of  their 
own  motion,  have  continued  their  journey  home- 
ward in  the  air  for  at  least  a  yard  or  two  beyond 
the  hobby's  head.  Still  as  a  stone  statue  stood 
the  animal,  seeming  neither  to  hear  the  voice  of 
the  knight,  nor  to  feel  the  still  more  cogent  remon- 
strances which  were  applied  with  profusion  both 
to  rib  and  flank. 

"  You  might  as  well  let  him  alone,  Sir  Dowling," 
said  the  daltin. 

"  Why  do  you  think  so,  Duach  ?" 

"  Because  Ireland  wouldn't  make  her  stir  now. 
There's  something  near  us,  masther,  that's  not 
good." 

"  Foolish  being !"  said  the  knight ;  "  descend 
and  see  what  is  the  matter." 

"  Me !  me  get  down  !"  exclaimed  Duach  ;  "  I 
had  rather  face  a  whole  cath  of  the  Loch-Lannoch.* 
Masther,  asthore,  get  down  yourself,  since  you 
ar'n't  in  dread  of  them." 

Sir  Dowling  complied,  compassionating  the 
weakness  of  his  attendant,  and  giving  the  reins  to 
the  awe-struck  daltin.  Advancing  a  few  paces, 
he  beheld,  by  the  faint  light  which  the  stormy  sky 
afforded,  the  figure  of  a  woman  in  a  sitting  posture 
on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  road,  with  the  hood 

*  A  name  given  to  the  Northern  pirates 


Sir  Bowling  O'Hartigan.  65 

of  her  cloak  turned  over  her  head,  and  her  arms 
clasped  in  an  attitude  of  profound  affliction. 

"Who's  there?"  exclaimed  Sir  Dowling  in  a 
peremptory  tone. 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  Speak !"  said  the  knight.  "  If  you  be  in  sorrow, 
tell  your  sorrow ;  if  not,  retire  and  let  my  hobby 
pass  the  road." 

Still  neither  sound  nor  motion  on  the  part  of  the 
hooded  figure  gave  sign  of  attention  or  of  com- 
pliance, and  it  was  not  until  the  knight  added 
menace  to  his  words  that  he  was  able  to  procure 
an  answer. 

"You're  like  the  rest  of  the  world,"  said  the 
woman,  slowly  revealing  in  the  faint  light  her 
worn  and  wrinkled  features,  "  that  never  knows 
its  friends." 

"  Is  that  Nora?"  asked  Sir  Dowling,  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"  It  is.  Ah  !  Sir  Dowling,  a'ra  gal,  I'm  in  trou- 
ble." 

"  Upon  what  account,  Nora?"  asked  the  knight. 

"  I'll  tell  you,  then.  Do  you  know  that  lake  you 
used  to  be  so  fond  of  fishing  in  when  you  used  to 
go  to  visit  your  relations  in  the  county  Galway  ?" 

"Do  you  mean  Lough  Ennel  ?'" 

"  The  very  same." 

"  I  do,  indeed,"  replied  the  knight.  "  Many  a 
pleasant  day  and  moonlight  night  I  spent  upon 
the  banks  or  on  its  waters.  It  was  a  fine  lake  for 
fish." 


66  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"Well,  a'ra  gal,  you'll  never  spend  another  there, 
except  you  go  to  the  county  Westmeath  for  it." 

"To  the  county  Westmeath!"  exclaimed  Sir 
Dowling,  in  astonishment. 

"  To  the  county  Westmeath,  achree.  'Tis 
there  Lough  Ennel  is  now,  and  there  it  will  re- 
main, I'm  very  much  in  dread." 

"  Nonsense  !"  said  the  knight ;  "  did  I  not  see  it 
with  my  own  eyes  the  last  time  I  was  in  Galway, 
and  didn't  I  send  the  prince  a  basket  of  the  finest 
trout  he  ever  tasted,  that  I  took  in  the  very  mid- 
dle of  it  with  my  own  hands?  What  nonsense!" 
said  the  knight.  "  How  could  it  be  in  the  county 
Westmeath?" 

"  Oh  !  then,  through  nothing  in  the  world,  only 
my  folly,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  that  couldn't  but 
go  lend  it  to  an  old  neighbor  of  mine,  a  decent 
woman,  as  I  thought  her,  that  lives  in  those  parts,- 
and  now  she  won't  return  it." 

"  Well,  Nora,"  said  Sir  Dowling,  "  I'm  surpris- 
ed at  you.  Is  it  possible?  A  woman  of  your 
sense  to  go  lend  such  a  lake  as  that !  And  sure 
you  ought  to  know  them  Leinster  people  before 
now,  how  hard  it  is  to  get  anything  from  them. 
There's  hardly  an  Ard-Righ  we  had  this  length  of 
time  but  was  heart-broken  with  them,  trying  to 
get  their  tribute.  I  thought  you'd  have  had  more 
sense,  Nora." 

"  Oh  !  then,"  said  the  'old  woman,  "  who'd  ever 
think  that  she'd  serve  me  such  a  trick?  Last 
summer  twelvemonth,  she  sent  over  to  me  her 


Sir  Dowling  O '  Hartigan.  67 

compliments,  and  she'd  be  obliged  to  me  for  the 
loan  of  a  lake  for  a  little  while — Westmeath  being 
an  inland  place,  where  it  was  very  hard  to  get 
fish,  and  she  knew  that  I  couldn't  miss  it  much,  as 
Connaught  was  bordering  upon  the  sea-coast — and 
that  she'd  return  it  faithfully  on  the  first  Monday 
of  the  month.  Well,  I  didn't  like  to  refuse  her, 
for  she  has  greater  power  than  I  have,  and  might 
do  me  some  mischief;  so  I  took  Lough  Ennel,  and 
rolled  it  up  in  an  apron,  and  sent  it  off  to  her, 
with  my  compliments,  and  that  I  was  happy  to 
have  it  in  my  power  to  accommdate  her.  She 
kept  the  lake ;  and  the  first  Monday  of  the  month 
came,  and  the  first  Monday  after,  and  she  never 
sent  it  home,  and  little  thanks  she  gave  me  when 
I  sent  for  it,  neither.  I  waited  as  long  as  I  had 
patience  to  wait,  but  not  a  sight  of  Lough  Ennel 
did  I  see  from  that  day  to  this." 

"  And  you  are  going  to  look  after  it  now  ?"  said 
Sir  Dowling. 

"  I'm  going  now  to  look  after  it,"  replied  the 
witch  ;  "  but  indeed  I'm  afraid  it  is  little  good 
for  me.     This  is  my  thanks  for  being  obliging." 

I  may  remark  that  old  Nora  was  right  in  her 
apprehensions,  as  may  be  ascertained  by  reference 
to  Shaw  Mason's  Topography,  or  the  Collectanea; 
for  there  lies  Lough  Ennel  to  this  day  in  the 
middle  of  the  county  Westmeath,  whose  inhabi- 
tants continue  to  enjoy  the  fruits,  or  rather  the 
fishes,  of  the  old  woman's  dishonesty,  while  the 
poor  Galway  mountaineer  stands  often  supperless 


68  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

upon  the  heights  of  Farmoyle,  and  overlooks  the 
wide  and  barren  flat  where  once  Lough  Ennel 
basked  and  tumbled  in  the  sun.  It  is  true  that 
the  time  of  possession  specified  in  the  Statute  of 
Limitations  has  long  since  expired  :  but  there  are 
points  in  this  case  which  render  it  a  peculiar  one, 
and  I  have  no  doubt  that  a  Chancery  injunction 
might  readily  be  obtained  to  prevent  any  intermed- 
dling with  the  fish  until  the  case  should  have  been 
fairly  argued  in  equity,  and  finally  adjudged. 

"  But  this,"  continued  old  Nora,  "  is  not  the 
only  nor  the  principal  cause  of  my  trouble.  I 
had  rather  all  the  lakes  in  Galway  were  in  West- 
meath  than  to  hear  what  I  heard  to-night,  and  to 
know  what  I  know." 

"What  did  you  hear?"  enquired  Sir  Dowling. 

"I  heard  thousands  of  Irish  wives  and  mothers 
lamenting  over  the  slain  and  wounded  in  the 
battle  of  Clontarf." 

"  You  heard  them  lamenting,"  said  the  knight, 
"  for  a  calamity  which  did  not  yet  take  place." 

"  But  it  is  certain,"  said  the  woman.  "  When 
the  oak  shall  be  levelled  by  the  storm,  what  will 
become  of  the  underwood  ?  You  know  not  what 
this  means  now,  but  you  will  if  you  should  live 
another  week." 

"Explain  yourself  plainly,"  said  Sir  Dowling. 
"  Whatever  be  the  issue,  it  is  better  I  should  be 
prepared  for  it.  I  am  to  join  the  standard  of 
Prince  Murrough.  at  the  battle,  and  I  am  now 
returning  to  take  leave  of  my  family  and  friends." 


Sty  Doxvling  O1  Hartigan.  69 

The  woman  remained  silent  for  some  moments, 
and  then  suddenly  said  : 

"Return  and  collect  your  force,  and  meet  me 
here  to-morrow  evening  an  hour  before  midnight 
— alone— and  be  sure  you  do  not  fail." 

With  these  words  she  disappeared,  and  Sir 
Dowling  O'Hartigan,  in  much  perplexity,  con- 
tinued his  journey.  He  arrived  at  his  castle, 
arranged  his  temporal  affairs,  and  made  the 
necessary  preparation  becoming  one  who  was 
about  to  encounter  imminent  danger.  On  the  fol- 
lowing day,  having  bid  adieu  to  those  amongst 
his  friends  who  were  to  remain  behind,  he  set 
forward  at  the  head  of  a  strong  party,  horse  and 
foot,  with  whom  he  encamped  after  nightfall 
within  a  short  distance  of  the  place  of  meeting. 

About  an  hour  before  midnight,  Sir  Dowling, 
throwing  his  war-cloak  around  him,  advanced  to 
the  rendezvous,  where  he  found  old  Nora  already 
expecting  him,  with  an  air  of  deeper  anxiety  and 
apprehension  than  she  had  shown  the  night  before. 

"  Are  you  resolved,  Sir  Dowling,"  she  said,  "  to 
join  the  standard  of  O'Brien  at  Clontarf  ?" 

"  Is  my  prince  to  be  there,"  said  Sir  Dowling, 
"  and  shall  I  not  be  there  ?" 

"  Beware  !" 

"Of  what?" 

"  I  passed  the  field  last  evening,  and  the  color 
of  death  was  upon  the  sod." 

''The  Men  of  the  Cold  Hills,  mother,  shall, 
make  that  vision  srood." 


jo  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"  Beware  !"  said  the  old   woman  again,  elevat- 
ing her  finger  with  a  warning  look.    "  Death  reaps 
his  harvest  without  regard  to  the  equality  of  the 
grain — the  weed  and  the  wheat-ear  together  fall 
beneath  his  sickle.     He  is  a  blast  that  blows   its 
poison  indiscriminately  upon  all  that  is  fair  and  all 
that  is  hideous  on  the  earth — the  tender  floweret 
of  the  spring  that  faints,  and  shrinks,  and  fades  be- 
neath a  wind  too  chill ;  and  the  marble  rock  that 
accumulates  its  bulk  forages,  and,  when  its  date  is 
reached,  rots  atom  after  atom  into  the  embrace  of 
the  grim  destroyer,  are  both  alike  his  victims.    The 
ape  that  gibbers  on  the  bough,  and  the  sage  that 
meditates   beneath   the   shade — the   coward    that 
skulks  behind  a  fence,  and  the  warrior  that  braves 
him  in  the  daylight — the  eagle  in  the  plains  of  air, 
and  the  wren  upon  the  summer  spray — the  lion 
in   the  bosom  of  the  woods,  and   the   hare   that 
glides  in  the  moonlight — the    leviathan  with  the 
caves  of  the  ocean,  and  the  starfish  spangling  the 
wave  upon  its  surface ;  nay,  even  the  very  ele- 
ments  that   feed   those    million   shades   and  rich 
varieties  of  life,  are   ail  subjected  to,  and  must 
at  some   time   feel,  his  power.      In   the   deepest 
shades,   in   the   heart  of  the  densest   substances, 
there    is   no   escaping    that    pervading    principle 
of  ruin.      His  wings   overshadow   the   universe, 
and    his   breath   penetrates   to   the  centre.      The 
tears  of  the  forlorn  and  the  bereaved,  the  sigh 
of  the  widow   and   orphan,   move    him    not,    he 
has  no  capabilitv  of  relenting;    to  him  the  Loch 


Sir  Dowling  O ' Hartigan.  yi 

Lannoch  and  the  children  of  the  Dal  Gais  are 
alike." 

"  Whatever-  be  ray  fate,"  said  Sir  Dowling,  "  I 
will  never  leave  a  tarnished  reputation  after  me. 
The  war-cry  of  the  Strong  Hand  *  shall  never  find 
Sir  Dowling  slow  to  second  it.  But  tell  me  if 
those  fatal  indications  which  look  on  you  from  the 
future  point  directly  at  my  life,  or  at  that  of  my 
prince?  " 

"  I  can  only  answer  for  your  own,"  said  the 
hag  ;  "  and  I  cannot  even  guess  at  your  fate  with- 
out your  own  assistance.  Go  to  the  top  of  yon- 
der hill,  and  tell  me  what  you  see." 

Sir  Dowling  O'Hartigan  obeyed,  and  in  a  short 
time  returned  to  the  place  where  he  had  left  the 
old  woman. 

"I  have  seen,"  said  he,  "a  woman  clothed  in 
saffron,  and  with  golden  ornaments  upon  her  neck 
and  shoulders." 

"  The  sign  is  fatal,"  said  the  old  woman,  shak- 
ing her  head;  "go  again,  and  go  to  the  other 
side  of  the  hill." 

Again  he  went,  and  again  he  came. 

"  I  have  seen,"  said  he,  "  a  woman  clothed  in 
white,  and  wearing  silver  ornaments." 

"  More  fatal  yet,"  exclaimed  the  hag,  with  a 
still  more  ominous  shake  of  the  head  ;  "  go  yet 
once  more,  and  take  the  western  side  of  the 
ascent." 

*  He  alludes  to  the  motto  of  the  O'Briens — "Lamk  Laidlcr  a  do,  "  or,  "  The 
Strong  Hand  for  ever  I " 


*J2  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

A  third  time  Sir  Dowling  went,  and  a  third 
time  did  Sir  Dowling-  O'Hartigan  return. 

"  I  have  seen,"  said  he,  "  a  woman  clothed  in 
black,  and  wearing  no  ornament  whatever." 

"  It  is  completed  then,"  said  the  woman  ;  "  and 
your  fate,  if  you  should  join  the  fight  at  Clontarf, 
is  fixed  beyond  all  doubt.  You  die  upon  the 
field." 

"  I  know  not  how  that  may  be,"  answered  the 
knight,  "but  I  am  sure  I  shall  be  with  my  prince, 
wherever  he  is." 

"  Abstain  from  the  field,  Sir  Dowling,"  said  the 
woman,  looking  on  him  with  much  earnestness. 
"  I  was  present  when  you  received  in  your  boy- 
hood the  order  of  knighthood.  The  wicker  shield 
was  hung  up  in  the  centre  of  the  field,  and  you 
were  provided  with  your  lance.  1  saw  you  shiver 
shaft  after  shaft  from  blade  to  hilt,  while  the 
plains  rang  with  acclamations,  and  the  ancient 
warriors  tossed  their  beards  in  wonder  at  the  vi- 
gor of  so  young  an  arm.  From  that  day  to  this  I 
ever  loved  your  welfare,  and  I  pray  you  now  con- 
sult it  by  remaining  from  the  field  of  Clontarf." 

Sir  Dowling,  however,  would  by  no  means 
listen  to  her  dishonorable  though  friendly  solici- 
tations. He  became  so  impatient  of  those  unwor- 
thy suggestions  that  he  turned  his  back  at 
length,  and  was  about  to  depart  in  considerable 
wrath. 

"  Stay,  Sir  Dowling !  "  exclaimed  the  witch  ; 
"  although    I    cannot  change   the    nature    of  the 


Sir  Dozvling  O'Hartigan.  73 

prophecy,  I  will  do  my  utmost  to  prolong-  your 
life.  Take  this  cloak — it  has  the  power  of  ren- 
dering those  who  wear  it  invisible  to  the  eyes  of 
others.  If  it  cannot  avert  the  fate  that  threatens 
you,  it  may  at  least  retard  the  term  of  its  ap- 
proach. But  above  all  things,  I  warn  you  let 
nothing  ever  induce  you  to  resign  the  cloak  until 
the  fight  is  at  an  end';  if  you  do,  you  are  lost." 

So  saying,  and  flinging  the  filead  upon  him,  she 
hobbled  off,  without  waiting  for  thanks,  and  took 
the  way  towards  Westmeath  to  recover  her  lost 
lake,  and  to  harangue  the  borrower  about  her 
want  of  punctuality. 

"  It  might  be  pardoned,"  she  muttered  to  her- 
self, as  she  moved  along,  "  if  there  were  no  other 
lake  in  the  county  Westmeath  but  the  one, 
although  even  then  the  best  that  could  be  said  of 
them  is  that  they  came  by  it  shabbily  enough  ; 
but  when  they  have  Lough  Iron,  and  Lough 
Owhel,  and  Lough  Devereragh,  and  Lough  Lane, 
and  a  good  piece  of  Lough  Ree  ! — it  is  scandal- 
ous and  unneighborly,  and  I  will  not  submit  to  it. 
I'm  sure  it  is  we  that  ought  to  be  borrowing  lakes 
out  of  Westmeath,  and  not  they  out  of  Galway." 

Sir  Dowling,  in  the  meantime,  returned.  De- 
sirous to  ascertain  whether  old  Nora's  cloak  did 
in  reality  possess  the  wonderful  virtue  which  she 
ascribed  to  it,  he  paused  at  a  little  distance  from 
the  first  sentinels,  and  fastened  it  about  his  neck. 
To  his  astonishment,  he  passed  all  the  guards  suc- 
cessively,   without  receiving   a  single  challenge, 


74  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

and  reached  his  own  quarters  unobserved.  Here 
he  found  Duach  lying  half  asleep  by  the  watch- 
fire,  which  had  been  lighted  for  Sir  Dowling's 
use.  Knowing  his  daltin  to  be  one  of  those  per- 
sons who  are  sensible  of  scarcely  any  fear,  except 
that  which  is  referred  to  a  supernatural  object,  he 
determined  to  put  the  power  of  the  cloak  to  a 
still  surer  test. 

"Duach!"  exclaimed  Sir  Dowling  —  "Duach, 
awake !  " 

The  daltin  started  up,  and  gazed  around. 

"  Duach  !  "  continued  the  knight,  "  here,  take 
my  cloak  and  lann,  and  watch  while  I  lie  down 
and  take  a  few  hours'  sleep." 

"  Mercy  on  me !  "  exclaimed  the  daltin,  trem- 
bling. 

"  Do  you  hear  me,  sirrah  ?  Have  you  lost  your 
wits?" 

"  'Tis  the  masters  voice  !  "  said  Duach,  rubbing 
his  e}^es,  and  looking  around  on  all  sides  ;  "  but 
where  in  the  earthly  universe  is  he  ?  " 

"  Where  am  I,  rogue  ?  Do  you  not  see  me 
standing  close  to  you  ?  " 

"  Well,"  cried  Duach,  "  I  never  was  in  trouble 
till  now  !  " 

At  these  words,  Sir  Dowling  struck  him  pretty 
smartly  over  the  shoulders  with  his  sheathed 
sword. 

"  If  you  do  not  see  me,  you  shall  feel  me, 
sirrah,"  said  the  knight.] 

At  this  unexpected  assault,  Duach,  with  a  yell 


Sir  Dowling  CP Hartigau.  75 

that  might  have  been  heard  across  the  Shannon, 
turned  short,  and  would  have  fled  the  camp,  had 
not  Sir  Dowling  seized  him  by  the  skirt  of  his 
saffron  coat,  and  held  him  firm.  At  the  same  time 
he  undid  the  tie  which  made  the  mantle  fast 
about  his  own  neck,  and  stood  visibly  before  the 
astonished  daltin. 

"  Well !  "  exclaimed  the  latter,  "  I  often  heard 
of  wonders,  but  if  this  doesn't  flog  all  Minister, 
it's  no  matter.  Where  in  Europe  were  you,  mas- 
ter ?  Or  where  do  you  come  from  ?  Or  is  it  to  drop 
out  of  the  sky  you  did,  or  to  rise  out  of  the 
ground,  or  what  ?  " 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  amazement  with 
which  Duach  heard  his  master  relate  the  inter- 
view which  he  had  with  the  old  woman,  and  the 
extraordinary  virtue  of  the  cloak  which  she  had 
lent  him. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Sir  Dowling,"  said  the 
daltin,  "  I  don't  count  it  sufficient  trial  that  the 
guards  and  myself  couldn't  see  you,  for  people 
have  often  thick  sight,  and  especially  at  night, 
that  way  ;  but  wait  till  morning,  and  the  first 
sheiling  we  pass  where  we'll  see  any  pigs,  you 
can  put  it  on.  They  say  pigs  can  see  the  very 
wind  itself,  so,  if  they  don't  see  you,  you  may 
depend  your  life  upon  the  cloak." 

Sir  Dowling  did  not  appear  to  think  this  test 
essential  to  his  purpose,  and,  on  the  following 
morning,  he  set  forward,  accompanied  by  his 
force,  to  join  the  standard  of  the  Ard-Righ,   That 


76  Half  Hours  itith  Irish  Authors. 

monarch  and  his  son,  to  whom  he  had  deputed 
the  command  of  the  royal  army  on  this  occasion, 
were  already  on  the  field  of  battle  when  Sir 
Dowling  O'Hartigan  arrived.  Many  circum- 
stances combine  to  give  a  strong  and  lasting 
interest  to  this  brilliant  day  in  Ireland's  clouded 
story.  King  Brian,  who  was  seventy-six  years  of 
age  when  he  ascended  the  throne,  had,  in  the 
course  of  twelve  years  ensuing,  raised  the  condi- 
tion of  the  island  to  a  state  of  almost  unexam- 
pled prosperity,  and  acquired  for  himself  the 
character  of  a  saint,  a  hero,  and  a  sage.  His 
reign  bears  a  closer  resemblance  to  that  of  the 
French  St.  Louis,  or  the  English  Alfred,  than 
that  of  any  other  Irish  monarch  whom  we  can 
call  to  mind.  Devoted  himself  to  the  cultivation 
of  letters  and  the  practice  of  religion,  he  encour- 
aged both  by  every  means  which  the  prerogative 
of  his  station  could  afford.  He  founded  many 
churches,  and  added  his  influence  to  that  of  the 
clergy  in  promoting  a  love  of  piety  and  virtue. 
He  conciliated  the  friendship  of  the  independent 
princes  throughout  the  island  by  confirming  their 
ancient  privileges,  and  aiding  them  in  the  en- 
forcement of  their  authority.  The  success  with 
which  his  efforts  to  establish  national  peace  and 
harmony  were  attended  has  been  celebrated  in  a 
legend  with  which  all  are  familiar  who  have  read 
the  Irish  melodies  ;  and,  whatever  be  the  truth  of 
the  story,  it  bears  testimony  at  least  to  the  repu- 
tation of  the  monarch  with  his  subjects  and  their 


Sir  Dowling  CHartigan.  77 

prosperity.  At  the  close  of  his  reign,  however, 
he  had  the  affliction  to  combat  with  internal 
treachery  and  foreign  invasion.  The  annalists 
tell  us  that  Malmorda,  the  Righ,  or  inferior  mon- 
arch of  Leinster,  aided  by  twelve  thousand  Danes, 
whom  he  had  called  in  to  aid  him  in  his  rebellious 
enterprise,  arose  in  arms  against  his  sovereign. 
The  aged  monarch  was  prompt  in  taking  the  field 
against  the  traitor  and  his  foreign  allies,  nor  were 
his  subjects  slow  to  second  him.  The  field,  when 
Sir  Dowling  entered  it,  presented  a  striking  and 
animated  spectacle.  The  Irish  archers  and  sli'ng- 
ers,  with  their  small  Scythian  bows  and  kranta- 
bals ;  the  gallow-glach  heavily  armed,  with  genn 
and  battle-axe  ;  and  the  shoals  of  kerne,  distin- 
guished by  the  hanging-cap,  the  ready  skene  at 
the  girdle,  and  javelin  in  the  hand,  were  arrayed 
between  the  royal  tents  and  the  rebel  force. 
Amongst  these  last  the  island  costume  was  shame- 
fully mingled  with  the  chain  armor  of  the  invad- 
ers, and  the  Irish  poll-axe  advanced  in  the  same 
cause  with  the  ponderous  Northern  sparthe, 
which  had  so  often  drunk  the  blood  of  the  help- 
less and  unresisting  in  their  towns  and  villages. 
Mindful  of  old  Nora's  warning,  Sir  Dowling 
O'Hartigan  committed  his  men  to  the  care  of  an 
inferior  officer,  and,  fastening  the  cloak  around 
his  neck,  passed,  unobserved,  to  that  part  of  the 
field  where  Prince  Murrough  O'Brien  was  in  the 
act  of  persuading  his  age-stricken  parent,  the  ven- 
erable Priam  of  the  day,  to  retire  from  a  scene  in 


78  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

which  he  could  no  longer  afford  assistance,  and 
to  await  in  his  tent  the  issue  of  the  combat.  The 
monarch  at  length  complied,  and,  bidding  an 
affectionate  farewell  to  his  children  of  two  gener- 
ations, who  were  about  to  risk  all  for  his  crown 
and  people,  slowly  retired  from  the  field  ;  and  at 
the  same  instant  Sir  Dowling  had  the  mortifica- 
tion to  hear  the  prince  give  utterance  to  an 
exclamation  of  disappointment  and  surprise  at 
his  non-appearance. 

"  It  is  the  first  time,"  said  Prince  Murrough, 
"  that  I  ever  knew  Sir  Dowling  O'Hartigan  untrue 
to  his  engagement." 

The  knight  had  much  difficulty  in  restraining 
himself  from  flinging  away  the  cloak,  and  remov- 
ing the  uneasiness  of  his  prince,  but  the  warning 
of  Nora,  and  the  fear  that  in  the  eagerness  to 
manifest  his  loyalty  he  might  lose  the  power  of 
manifesting  it  in  a  more  effectual  way,  enabled 
him  to  control  his  inclinations. 

The  battle  commenced,  and  Sir  Dowling,  tak- 
ing his  position  near  the  prince,  wrought  prodigies 
of  valor  in  his  defence.  The  prince  and  his  immedi- 
ate attendants  beheld  with  astonishment  Dane 
after  Dane,  and  traitor  after  traitor,  fall  mortally 
wounded  to  the  ground,  and  yet  none  could  say  by 
whose  weapon  the  blow  was  struck.  More  than 
once,  the  prince,  as  if  his  own  strength  were  so  gi- 
gantic that  the  mere  intention  of  a  blow  on  his  part 
were  more  destructive  than  the  practical  exertions 
of  another,  saw  his  enemies  fall  prostrate  at  his  feet 


Sir  Dowling  O ' Hartigan.  79 

when  he  had  but  lifted  his  sword  into  the  air  above 
them.  At  length  a  Nordman  of  prodigious  size 
came  bearing  down  upon  the  prince,  hewing  all 
to  pieces  before  him,  and  breaking  the  royal  ranks 
with  the  strength  of  a  rhinoceros.  At  the  very 
instant  when  he  had  arrived  within  a  sword's 
length  of  Murrough  O'Brien,  and  while  the  latter 
was  in  the  act  of  lifting  his  shield  in  order  to 
resist  his  onset,  to  the  astonishment  of  all,  and 
doubtless  to  his  own,  the  head  of  the  gigantic 
Nordman  rolled  upon  the  grass.  The  prince 
started  back  amazed. 

"  These  must  be  Sir  Dowling's  blows,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "  and  yet  I  do  not  see  the  man  !" 

"  And  what  hand,"  cried  Sir  Dowling,  flinging 
aside  the  cloak  in  a  transport  of  death-defying 
zeal — "  whose  hand  has  a  better  right  than  Sir 
Dowling's  to  do  the  utmost  for  a  son  of  Brian?" 

He  had  scarcely  given  utterance  to  his  words, 
when  the  sparthe  of  a  Loch  Lannoch,  who  stood 
at  some  distance,  came  whistling  through  the  air, 
and  transfixed  him  on  the  spot,  the  victim  of  his 
own  enthusiasm.  The  rest  is  known.  The  aged 
monarch,  the  prince,  and  many  of  their  house,  and 
four  thousand  of  their  followers  shared  the  fate  of 
Sir  Dowling  O'Hartigan  ;  bat  their  country  was 
redeemed  in  their  destruction,  for  Clontarf  did 
more  than  ''scotch"  the  Danish  hydra.  It  was 
never  seen  to  raise  one  of  its  heads  again  in 
Ireland. 


THE 

STORY-TELLER  AT  FAULT, 

A   TALE   OF   MAGIC. 


AT  the  time  when  the  Tuatha  Danans  held  the 
sovereignty  of  Ireland,  there  reigned  in 
Leinster  a  king  who  was  remarkably  fond  of 
hearing  stories.  Like  all  the  princes  and  chief- 
tains of  the  island  at  this  early  date,  he  had  a 
favorite  Story-teller,  according  to  the  custom  of 
those  times,  who  held  a  large  estate  from  his 
majesty,  on  condition  of  his  telling  him  a  new 
story  every  night  of  his  life,  before  he  went  to 
sleep,  and  sometimes  with  the  laudable  purpose  of 
lulling  him  into  that  blissful  condition.  So  inex- 
haustible was  the  genius  of  the  King  of  Leinster's 
Story-teller  that  he  had  already  reached  a  good 
old  age  without  failing  even  for  a  single  night  to 
have  a  new  story  for  the  king ;  and  such  was  the 
skill  and  tact  which  he  displayed  in  their  con- 
struction that,  whatever  cares  of  state  or  other 
annoyances  might  prey  upon  the  monarch's  mind, 
one  of  his  Story-teller's  narratives  was  sure  to 
make  him  fall  asleep. 

In  the  course  of  his  career,  the  Story-teller  had 


The  Story-Tiller  at  Fault.  8 1 

married  a  wealthy  and  high-born  lady,  daughter 
of  a  neighboring  lord  of  that  country,  with  whom 
he  lived  in  peace  and  prosperity  during  many 
years.  There  is  nothing,  however,  in  this  world 
which  is  not  subject  to  decay  or  change,  and  even 
the  human  mind,  which,  from  its  spiritual  nature, 
might  well  be  supposed  incorruptible,  is  doomed 
to  share  the  infirmities  of  the  frame  with  which  it 
is  so  mysteriously  united.  The  progress  of  old 
age  began  to  produce  a  sensible  influence  on  the 
imagination  of  the  Story-teller,  His  fancy  grew 
less  brisk  and  active,  and  the  king  observed  that 
he  began  to  diversify  his  incidents  with  a  greater 
number  of  moral  and  philosophical  reflections  than 
he  conceived  to  be  necessary  to  the  progress  of 
the  narrative.  However,  he  made  no  complaints, 
as  the  Story-teller's  reflections  evinced  a  great  deal 
of  judgment,  and  the  grand  object  in  view,  that  of 
setting  the  king  to  sleep,  was  as  perfectly  accom- 
plished by  his  philosophy  as  by  his  wit  or  invention. 

Matters  thus  proceeded,  the  Story-teller  grow- 
ing older  and  older,  and  more  and  more  philoso- 
phical, and  less  and  less  fanciful,  but  he  was  yet 
true  to  his  engagement,  and  never  failed  to  have  a 
new  story  at  nightfall  for  the  king's  amusement. 
Every  day,  however,  brought  increasing  indica- 
tions of  an  intellectual  crisis,  which  would  not  be 
very  distant. 

One  morning,  the  Story-teller  arose  early,  and, 
as  his  custom  was,  strolled  out  into  his  garden,  and 
through  the  adjacent  fields,  in  order  to  turn  over 


82  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

in  his  mind  some  incidents  which  he  might  weave 
into  a  story  for  the  king-  at  night.  But  this  morn- 
ing he  found  himself  quite  at  fault ;  after  pacing 
his  whole  demesne,  he  returned  to  his  house, 
without  being  able  to  think  of  anything  new  or 
strange.  In  vain  he  sent  his  fancy  abroad,  it 
returned  as  empty  as  it  left  him.  He  found  no 
difficulty  in  proceeding  as  far  as  "  There  was  once 
a  king  who  had  three  sons,"  or  "  There  lived  in  the 
reign  of  Ollav  Folia,  "  or  "  One  day  the  king  of  all 
Ireland,"  but  further  than  that  he  found  it  im- 
possible to  proceed.  At  length  a  servant  came 
to  announce  to  him  that  breakfast  was  ready,  and 
his  mistress  waiting  for  him  in  the  house.  He 
went  in,  and  found  his  wife  seated  at  the  table,  and 
looking  much  perplexed  at  his  delay.  She  was 
not  long  observing  the  air  of  chagrin  that  over- 
spread his  countenance. 

"Why  do  you  not  come  to  breakfast,  my 
dear?"  said  his  wife. 

"  I  have  no  mind  to  eat  anything,"  replied  the 
Story-teller.  "  As  long  as  I  have  been  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  King  of  Leinster,  I  never  yet  sat  down 
to  breakfast  without  having  a  new  story  to  tell 
him  in  the  evening;  but  this  morning  my  mind  is 
quite  shut  up,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I 
might  as  well  lie  down  and  die  at  once.  I'll  be 
disgraced  for  ever  this  evening,  when  the  king 
calls  for  his  Story-teller." 

"  That's  strange,"  said  the  wife.  "  Can't  you 
think  of  anything  new  at  all  ?" 


77/6'  Story-Telley  at  Fault.  83 

"  Nothing  whatever  ;  the  door  of  my  mind  is 
locked  against  it." 

"  Nonsense  !"  said  his  wife.  "  Can't  you  invent 
something  about  a  giant,  or  a  dwarf,  or  a  Bean 
Mhor  (huge  woman),  or  a  baoch  (champion)  from 
foreign  parts?  " 

"Oh!  it  is  easy  enough  to  find  heroes,"  replied 
the  Story-teller;  "  but  what  am  I  to  do  with  them 
when  I  have  them?  " 

"  And  can't  you  invent  anything  at  all?  " 

"  I  cannot  our  estate  is  gone  from  us  for  ever  ; 
besides  the  open  show  that  will  be  made  of  me 
to-night  at  the  palace." 

When  the  Stoi\y-teller's  wife  heard  this  dread- 
ful news,  she  broke  into  a  fit  of  crying  and  weep- 
ing, as  if  all  her  friends  and  relations  were  dead. 
At  length  her  husband  prevailed  on  her  to  be 
composed. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  let  us  sit  down  to  breakfast, 
at  any  rate;  the  day  is  long  yet,  and  may  be 
you'd  think  of  something  or  another  in  the  course 
of  it." 

The  Story-teller  shook  his  head  as  if  to  inti- 
mate his  distrust  of  its  contents,  but  sat  down  to 
breakfast  as  his  wife  desired.  When  all  was 
removed,  and  they  had  sat  for  awhile  in  silence  : 

"  Well,"  she  asked,  "do  vou  think  of  anything 
yet  ? " 

"  Not  a  pin's  worth,"  said  the  Story-teller.  "  I 
might  as  well  lie  down  and  die  at  once." 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  the  lady,  "I'll  tell  you 


84  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

what  you'll  do.  Order  your  horses  and  chariot, 
and  let  us  take  a  good  long  drive,  and  may  be 
something-  might  come  into  your  head." 

The  Story-teller  complied,  and  the  chariot  was 
prepared.  Two  of  his  finest  horses  were  har- 
nessed in  the  carriage,  and  three  favorite  hounds 
followed  them.  After  driving  a  long  distance, 
they  took  the  road  homeward  once  more,  and 
toward  evening,  when  they  came  within  sight  of 
their  own  demesne,  the  lady  again  asked  her  hus- 
band if  he  had  )^et  thought  of  anything  to  tell  the 
king. 

"  There  is  no  use  in  my  attempting  it,"  he  re- 
plied, "  I  can  think  of  nothing.  I'm  as  far  from 
having  anything  new  as  I  was  when  we  left 
home." 

At  this  moment,  it  happened  that  the  lady  saw 
something  dark  at  the  end  of  a  field  at  a  little 
distance  from  the  road. 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  wife,  "  do  you  see  some- 
thing black  at  the  end  of  that  field  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  replied  her  husband. 

"  Let  us  drive  towards  it,"  said  the  wife,  "and 
perhaps  it  might  be  the  means  of  putting  some- 
thing into  your  head  which  it  would  answer  to 
tell  the  king." 

"  I'll  do  as  you  desire,"  replied  the  Story-teller, 
"  though  I  am  sure  it  is  no  use  for  me." 

They  turned  the  horses'  heads  and  drove  in  the 
direction  pointed  out  by  the  lad)7.  When  they 
drew  nigh,  they  saw  a  miserable-looking  old  man 


The  Story -Teller  at  Fault.  85 

lying  on  the  ground  with  a  wooden  leg  placed 
beside  him. 

"Who  are  you,  my  good  man?"  asked  the 
Story-teller. 

"  Oh  !  then,  'tis  little  matter  who  I  am.  I'm  a 
poor  old  lame,  decrepit,  miserable  creature,  sit- 
ting down  here  to  rest  awhile." 

"  And  what  are  you  doing  with  that  box  and 
dice  I  see  in  your  hand  ?  " 

"  I  am  waiting  here  to  see  whether  any  one 
would  play  a  game  with  me,"  replied  the  old 
bococJi  (beggar-man). 

"  Play  with  you  ?  "  exclaimed  the  Story-teller. 
"  Why,  what  has  a  poor  old  man  like  you  to  play 
for?" 

"  I  have  one  hundred  pieces  of  gold  here  in  this 
leathern  purse,"  replied  the  old  man. 

"  Do  you  go  down  and  play  with  him,"  said  the 
Story-teller's  wife,  "  and  perhaps  you  might  have 
something  to  tell  the  king  about  it  in  the  eve- 
ning." 

He  descended,  and  a  smooth  stone  was  placed 
between  them  as  a  gaming-table.  They  had  not 
cast  many  throws,  when  the  Story-teller  lost  all 
the  money  he  had  about  him. 

"  Much  good  may  it  do  you,  friend,"  said  the 
Story-teller.  "  I  could  not  expect  better  hap  in 
so  foolish  an  undertaking." 

"  Will  you  play  again  ?  "  asked  the  old  man. 

"  Don't  be  talking,  man ;  you  have  all  my 
money." 


86  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"  Haven't  you  a  chariot,  and  horses,  and 
hounds  ?  " 

"  Well,  what  of  them?" 

"  I'll  stake  all  the  money  I  have  against  them." 

"  Nonsense,  man  !  "  exclaimed  the  Story-teller. 
"  Do  you  think  for  all  the  gold  in  Ireland,  I'd  run 
the  risk  of  seeing  my  lady  obliged  to  go  home  on 
foot?" 

"  May  be  you'd  win,"  said  the  bococh. 

"  May  be  I  wouldn't,"  said  the  Story-teller. 

"  Do  play  with  him,  husband,"  said  the  lady. 
"  It  is  the  second  time,  and,  as  he  won  before,  you 
might  win  now.     Besides,  I  don't  mind  walking." 

"  I  never  refused  you  a  request  in  my  life  that 
it  was  possible  to  comply  with,"  said  the  Story- 
teller, "  and  I  won't  do  so  now." 

He  sat  down  accordingly,  and  in  one  throw  lost 
horses,  hounds,  and  chariot. 

"  Will  you  play  again  ?  "  asked  the  bococh. 

"  Are  you  making  game  of  me,  man  ?  "  said  the 
Story-teller.     "  What  else  have  I  to  stake? " 

"  I'll  stake  the  whole  money  and  all  against  }rOur 
lady,"  said  the  old  man. 

Now,  although  these  were  pagan  times,  the 
Story-teller  could  not  help  thinking  the  bococh 
had  a  great  deal  of  impudence  to  make  him  such 
a  proposition.  However,  he  only  looked  at  him 
with  an  expression  of  great  surprise,  and  was 
turning  away  in  silence,  when  his  wife  spoke  to 
him  again. 

"Do,  my   dear,"  said   she,  "accept   his    offer. 


The  Story-Teller  at  Fault.  87 

This  is  the  third  time,  and  how  do  you  know 
what  luck  you  may  have  ?  Besides,  if  you  lose 
your  estate  to-night,  as  you  are  afraid,  sure  I'd 
be  only  a  bother  to  you  all  our  life." 

"  Is  that  the  way  you  talk,"  said  the  Story- 
teller— "  you  that  I  never  refused  a  request  to 
since  first  I  saw  you?" 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  if  you  never  refused  me  a 
request  before,  don't  refuse  me  this  one  now,  and 
may  be  it  would  be  better  for  us  both.  You'll 
surely  win  the  third  time." 

They  played  again,  and  the  Story-teller  lost. 
No  sooner  had  he  done  so,  than,  to  his  great 
astonishment  and  indignation,  he  beheld  his 
lady  walk  over  and  sit  down  near  the  ugly  old 
bococh. 

"  Is  that  the  way  you're  leaving  me?"  said  the 
Story-teller. 

"  Sure  I  was  won,  my  dear,"  said  the  lad}'' ;  "you 
would  not  cheat  the  poor  man,  would  you  ?" 

"Have  you  any  more  to  stake?"  asked  the 
old  man. 

"  You  know  very  well  I  have  not,"  replied  the 
Story-teller. 

"  I'll  stake  the  whole,  now,  your  lady  and  all, 
against  yourself,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  Nonsense,  man  !"  said  the  Story-teller.  "  What 
in  the  world  business  would  you  have  of  an  old 
fellow  like  me  ?" 

"  That's  my  own  affair,"  said  the  bococh.  "  I 
know  myself  what  use  I  could  make  of  you;  it  is 


88  Half  Hours    with  Irish  Authors. 

enough  for  you  if  I  am  willing  to  consider  you  a 
sufficient  stake  against  all  I  have." 

"  Do,  my  dear,"  said  the  lady  ;  "  surely  you  do 
not  mean  to  leave  me  here  after  you  ?" 

The  Story-teller  complied  once  more,  and 
lost. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  with  a  desolate  look,  "  here  I 
am  for  you  now,  and  what  do  you  want  with  me? 
You  have  the  whole  of  us,  now,  horses  and  carriage* 
and  mistress  and  master,  and  what  business  have 
you  of  us?" 

"  I'll  soon  let  you  know  what  business  I  have  of 
you,  at  any  rate,"  said  the  old  man,  taking  out  of 
his  pocket  a  long  cord  and  a  wand.  "  Now-,"  he 
continued,  "  as  I  have  possession  of  your  property, 
I  do  not  choose  to  be  annoyed  by  you  any  longer, 
so  I  propose  transforming  you  into  some  kind  of 
an  animal,  and  I  give  you  a  free  choice  to  be  a 
hare,  or  a  deer,  or  a  fox,  whichever  of  the  three 
best  hits  your  fancy." 

The  Story-teller  in  dismay  looked  over  towards 
his  wife. 

"  My  dear,"  said  she,  "  do  not  choose  to  be  a 
deer,  for,  if  you  do,  your  horns  will  be  caught  in 
the  branches,  and  you  will  be  starved  with  hun- 
ger ;  neither  choose  to  be  a  fox,  for  you  will  have 
the  curse  of  everybody  down  upon  you  ;  but 
choose  to  be  an  honest  little  hare,  and  every  one 
will  love  you,  and  you  will  be  praised  by  high  and 
low." 

"And  is  that  all  the  compassion  vou  have  for 


The  Story-Teller  at  Fault.  89 

me  ?"  said  the  Story-teller.  "  Well,  as  I  suppose 
it  is  the  last  word  I  have  to  say  to  you,  it  shall 
not  be  to  contradict  you,  at  any  rate." 

So  he  made  choice  of  a  hare,  and  the  old  man 
immediately  threw  the  cord  around  him,  and 
struck  him  with  the  wand,  when  the  transforma- 
tion was  effected.  Scarcely  had  the  poor  hare 
taken  a  skip  or  two,  in  order  to  divert  himself, 
when  the  lady  called  the  hounds,  and  set  them 
after  him.  The  hare  ran,  the  dogs  followed.  The 
field  in  which  the}'  happened  to  be  was  enclosed 
by  a  high  wall,  so  that  the  course  continued  a 
long  time  in  the  sight  of  the  old  man  and  the  lady, 
to  the  great  diversion  of.  both.  At  length  the 
hare,  panting  and  weary,  ran  to  the  feet  of  the 
latter  for  protection.  But  then  was  witnessed  a 
singular  instance  of  the  caprice  and  mutability  of 
the  sex,  for  the  Story-teller's  wife,  forgetful  of  all 
his  kindness  experienced  during  a  long  course  of 
years,  unfeelingly  kicked  him  back  again  towards 
the  dogs,  from  whence  arose  the  proverb  long 
current  in  after-times,  Caith  se  a  glab  no  con  (She 
threw  him  into  the  hound's  mouth),  as  applied  to 
all  who  act  with  similar  ingratitude.  They  cours- 
ed him  a  second  and  a  third  time,  and  at  the  end 
of  each  the  lady  acted  with  the  same  heartless- 
ness,  until  at  length  the  old  man  struck  the  hounds, 
and  took  the  hare  into  his  lap,  where  he  held  him 
for  some  time,  until  he  had  sufficiently  recovered 
his  strength.  He  then  placed  him  on  the  ground, 
and,  putting  the  cord  around  him,  struck  him  with 


go  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

the   wand,   on  which   he  immediately  reassumed 
his  own  form. 

"  Well,"  said  the  old  man,  "  will  you  tell  me 
how  }tou  liked  that  sport  ?" 

"  It  might  be  sport  to  others,"  replied  the  Story- 
teller, looking  at  his  wife,  "but  I  declare  I  don't 
find  it  so  enticing  but  I  could  put  up  with  the 
loss  of  it.  You're  a  droll  man,  whoever  you  are. 
Would  it  be  asking  an  impertinent  question  to 
know  from  you  who  you  are  at  all,  or  where  you 
came  from,  or  what  is  your  trade,  that  you  should 
take  a  pleasure  in  plaguing  a  poor  old  man  of  my 
kind  in  that  manner?" 

"  Oh  !"  replied  the  stranger.  "  I'm  a  very  odd 
kind  of  man — a  sort  of  a  walking  good-for-little 
fellow — one  day  in  poverty,  another  day  in  plenty 
— and  so  on — but  if  you  wish  to  know  anything 
more  about  me  or  my  habits,  come  with  me  in- 
some  of  my  rambles,  and  perhaps  I  might  show 
you  more  then  you  would  be  apt  to  make  out  if 
you  were  to  go  alone." 

"  I'm  not  my  own  master  to  go  or  stay,"  replied 
the  Story-teller,  with  a  resigned  look. 

When  the  stranger  heard  this,  he  put  one  hand 
into  the  wallet  which  he  carried  at  his  side, 
and  drew  out  of  it  before  their  eyes  a  well- 
looking  middle-aged  man,  to  whom  he  spoke  as 
follows : 

"  I  command  you  by  all  you  heard  and  saw 
since  I  put  you  into  my  wallet  to  take  charge  of 
this  lady,  together  with  the  carriage,  and   horses, 


The  Story-Tcllcj'  at  Fault.  91 

and  all,  and  have  them  ready  for  me  at  a  call 
whenever  I  shall  require  them." 

He  had  scarcely  said  these  words  when  all 
vanished  from  the  Story-teller's  sight,  and  he 
found  himself  on  a  sudden  transported,  he  knew 
not  how,  to  a  place  which  he  recognized  as  the 
Fox's  Ford,  well  known  as  the  residence  of  Red 
Hugh  O'Donnell.  On  looking  around,  he  saw 
the  old  man  standing  near  him  in  a  dress  still 
more  grotesque  than  before.  His  figure  was 
now  erect,  though  tali  and  lank,  his  hair  gray, 
and  his  ears  sticking  up  through  his  old  hat. 
The  greater  part  of  his  sword  was  exposed 
behind  his  hip  ;  he  wore  a  pair  of  tattered  brogues, 
which,  at  every  prodigious  stride  he  made  over 
the  marshy  ground,  sent  the  water  in  jets  up  to 
his  knees ;  and  in  his  hand  he  carried  three  green 
boughs.  It  happened  on  this  very  day  that  O'Don- 
nell and  his  followers  and  kinsmen  were  partaking 
of  a  splendid  banquet  in  his  house.  They  were 
very  merry,  feasting  and  drinking  together,  and, 
as  the  Story-teller  and  his  companion  drew  near, 
thejr  heard  one  of  the  guests  exclaim  in  a  loud  and 
commanding  tone : 

"  Who  will  say  he  ever  heard  finer  music  than 
that?  Is  it  possible  that  twenty-two  mnsicians 
could  be  found  from  this  to  the  shores  of  Greece 
better  skilled  in  their  art  than  the  twenty-two  who 
are  here  to-day — I  mean  Darby  McGillagan,  Cor- 
mad  O'Cregan,  Timothy  0'Cunningham,and  many 
more  whom  I  do  not  mention  now  by  name  ?" 


92  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"  We  do  not  suppose,"  said  several  of  his  hear- 
ers, "  that  any  such  thing-  is  possible." 

At  this  moment,  the  Caol  Riava  (thin  gray  man) 
and  the  Story-teller  entered  the  house. 

"  Save  all  here !"  said  the  Caol  Riava. 

"And  you  likewise,"  replied  O'Donnell. 
"  Where  do  you  come  from  now  ?" 

"  I  slept  last  night,"  replied  the  stranger,  "  in 
the  palace  of  the  King  of  Scotland." 

"  Call  the  door-keeper  before  me,"  said  O'Don- 
nell. 

He  was  summoned  accordingly. 

"Was  it  you  let  in  this  man?"  asked  O'Don- 
nell. 

"  I  give  you  free  lave  to  whip  the  head  from 
my  two  shoulders,"  replied  the  door-keeper,  "  if 
ever  I  laid  eyes  upon  him  before  this  present 
moment." 

"  Let  it  pass,"  said  the  Caol  Riava,  "  for  it 
would  come  just  as  easy  to  me  to  go  out  as  to 
come  in,  whether  the  door  was  open  or  shut." 

Then  turning  to  the  musicians : 

"Play  something  for  us,"  said  he,  "that  I  may 
judge  whether  all  that  I  have  heard  in  your 
praise  be  merited  or  otherwise." 

They  began  to  play,  first  successively,  and  then 
in  full  concert,  all  kinds  of  airs  and  elaborate 
pieces  of  music,  both  on  wind  and  stringed  instru- 
ments; and,  when  they  had  concluded,  ail  looked 
to  the  new-comer  to  learn  his  opinion  of  their 
performance. 


The  Story-Teller  at  Fault.  93 

"  I  assure  you,"  said  the  Caol  Riava,  "  that  since 
I  first  heard  of  Beelzebub,  and  Moloch,  and  Satan, 
and  the  rest  of  their  infernal  compeers,  and  of  the 
hideous  noise  and  uproar  compounded  of  rage 
and  lamentation  which  prevails  in  the  dreary 
region  of  the  demons  and  in  the  court  of  the  sable 
princes  of  hell,  I  never  could  imagine  worse 
music  than  what  you  are  just  after  playing." 

';  Play  something  for  us  yourself,  then,"  said 
O'Donnell. 

"  May  be  I  will,  and  may  be  I  won't,"  replied 
the  Caol  Riava ;  "  for  you  may  be  certain  I  will 
do  exactly  what  I  like  myself,  and  nothing  else." 

"  I  don't  doubt  you,"  said  O'Donnell. 

The  Caol  Riava  then  took  a  harp,  and  began  to 
play  in  such  a  manner  that  the  dead  might  have 
come  out  of  their  graves  to  hear  him  without 
occasioning  any  astonishment  to  those  who  knew 
the  cause  they  had  for  so  doing.  As  to  the  com- 
pany who  were  present,  sometimes  he  would 
make  them  weep,  sometimes  laugh,  and  at  other 
times  he  could  lull  them  asleep  with  the  power  of 
his  enchanting  strains. 

"  You  are  a  sweet  man,  whoever  you  are,"  said 
O'Donnell. 

"  Some  days  sweet,  and  some  days  bitter,"  replied 
the  Caol  Riava. 

"  Go  higher  up,  and  sit  in  company  with  O'Don- 
nell, and  eat  along  with  him,"  said  one  of  the 
attendants. 

"  I    will  do  no  such   thing,"  replied   the  Caol 


94  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

Riava,  "for  a  pleasing  accomplishment  in  an 
ugly  fellow  like  me  is  like  honey  in  the  body  of 
a  man  who  is  going  to  be  hanged  ;  so  I  will  go 
no  higher  up  than  where  I  am  ;  but  let  me  see  his 
goodness  here,  if  he  has  a  mind  to  show  it  at  all." 

He  kept  his  place,  and  O'Donnell  sent  him  by 
the  hands  of  an  attendant  a  suit  of  attire,  consist- 
ing of  a  cloak  of  many  colors,  a  fine  tunic,  and 
other  garments  to  match. 

"  Here,"  said  the  attendant,  "  is  a  full  suit  that 
O'Donnell  sends  you." 

"  I  will  not  accept  it,"  replied  the  Caol  Riava, 
"  for  a  good  man  shall  never  have  to  say  that  he 
lost  so  much  by  me." 

"  He  is  either  an  enemy  or  something  more 
than  mortal,"  said  O'Donnell,  when  he  heard 
that  the  stranger  had  refused  his  gifts.  "  Let 
twenty  horsemen  in  full  armor  keep  guard 
outside  of  the  house,  and  as  many  foot-soldiers 
be  stationed  inside  to  watch  his  movements." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me  ?"  asked 
the  long  gray  man,  when  he  saw  the  soldiers 
gathering  round  him. 

"  We  mean  to  have  a  sharp  eye  on  you,  that 
you  may  not  give  us  the  slip  till  dinner  is  over," 
said  O'Donnell. 

"  You  are  very  hospitable,"  replied  the  Caol 
Riava,  "  but  I  give  you  my  word,  if  you  were  as 
good  again,  it  is  not  with  you  I'll  dine  to-day." 

"Where  else  will  you  dine?"  asked  O'Don- 
nell. 


The  Story -Teller  at  Fault.  95 

"Far  enough  from  you,  you  may  be  satisfied," 
replied  the  Caol  Riava. 

"  I  pledge  you  my  word,"  said  one  of  the  gallo- 
glasses  on  guard,  "  if  I  find  you  attempting  to  stir 
against  O'Donnell's  wish,  I'll  make  pound  pieces 
of  you  with  my  battle-axe." 

The  Caol  Riava  made  no  reply,  but  took  an 
instrument,  and  began  to  play  as  before,  in  such  a 
manner  that  all  within  hearing  were  enchanted 
with  his  music.  He  then  laid  aside  the  harp,  and 
stood  up  in  his  place. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  look  to  yourselves,  you  who 
are  minding  me,  for  I  am  off!" 

The  instant  he  uttered  these  words,  the  soldier 
who  before  had  menaced  him  raised  his  battle- 
axe,  but,  instead  of  wounding  the  stranger  as  he 
intended,  he  struck  a  heavy  blow  on  the  harness 
of  the  man  who  stood  next  him.  The  latter  re- 
turned the  stroke  with  the  best  of  his  will,  and  in 
a  few  moments  the  whole  score  of  foot-guards 
were  hewing  at  each  other's  heads  and  shoulders 
with  their  battle-axes,  until  the  floor  was  strewed 
with  their  disabled  bodies.  In  the  midst  of  this 
confusion  the  Caol  Riava  came  to  the  door-keeper, 
and  said  to  him  : 

"  Go  to  O'Donnell,  and  tell  him  that,  for  a  re- 
ward of  twenty  cows  and  a  large  farm  rent 
free,  you  will  undertake  to  bring  his  people  to 
life  again.  When  he  accepts  your  proposal  (as 
I  know  he  will  be  glad  to  do),  take  this  herb, 
and  rub  a  little  of  it  to  the  roof  of  each  man's 


g6  Half  Hoars  with  Irish  Authors. 

mouth,  and  he  will  be  presently  in  perfect  health 
again." 

The  door-keeper  did  as  he  directed,  and  suc- 
ceeded perfectly,  but,  when  he  returned  to  thank 
his  benefactor,  to  his  great  astonishment  he  could 
discover  no  trace  of  either  him  or  the  Story-teller. 

It  happened  at  this  very  time  that  a  worthy 
man  named  MacEocha,  of  Leinster,  a  doctor  in 
poetry,  had  been  laid  up  with  a  broken  leg  more 
than  eighteen  weeks  without  receiving  the  least 
relief,  although  he  had  sixteen  of  the  ablest 
surgeons  in  Leinster  in  consultation  upon  it. 
Happening  to  lift  up  his  eyes  as  he  sat  before  his 
door,  he  saw  the  Caol  Riava  and  the  Story-teller 
approaching,  the  former  having  only  one  large 
garment  around  him,  and  an  Irish  book  in  his 
hand,  out  of  which  he  read  aloud  in  one  monoto- 
nous humming  tone. 

"  Save  you,  MacEocha,"  said  the  Caol  Riava. 

"  And  you  likewise !"  replied  MacEocha.  "  May 
I  ask  you  what  is  your  profession  ?" 

"  Why,"  replied  the  Caol  Riava,  "  I  am  what 
you  may  call  the  makings  of  a  physician  from 
Ulster." 

"  And  what  is  )'Our  name  ?" 

"  Call  me  Cathal  o  Gein,  and  I  will  answer  to 
it,"  replied  the  stranger.  "  I  understand  you  are 
of  a  very  churlish  and  inhospitable  disposition, 
and,  if  you  changed  your  conduct,  I  would  be  apt 
to  cure  your  leg  for  you." 

"  I   acknowledge  my  failing,"   said   MacEocha. 


The  Story-Teller  at  Fault:  97 

"  I  am  as  niggardly  as  any  miser  until  I  take  my 
third  cup,  but  from  that  out  I  am  easy  as  to  what 
others  may  do.  But  I  promise  you  if  you  cure 
me  that  I  will  not  be  guilt)'-  of  that  fault  again." 

While  he  was  speaking,  the  sixteen  doctors 
who  were  in  attendance  on  him  came  up  to  en- 
quire how  he  was  getting  on,  upon  which  he  told 
them  of  the  offer  made  by  the  Caol  Riava. 

The  doctors  looked  at  the  stranger  and  at  the 
Story-teller,  and  then  laughed  immoderately. 

"  Tis  very  well,"  said  the  Caol  Riava,  "but 
wait  a  little.  Rise  up,  now,"  said  he  to  Mac- 
Eocha,  "  and  let  me  see  which  can,  you  or  your 
sixteen  physicians,  run  fastest." 

Up  started  MacEocha,  and  away  went  the 
sixteen  doctors  after  their  patient,  but  he  left  them 
far  behind,  and  came  back  in  great  spirits  to  his 
house,  while  they  remained  panting  and  puffing 
at  a  distance. 

"Now,  you  MacEocha,"  said  the  stranger,  "do 
not  be  guilty  of  inhospitality  or  churlishness  from 
this  time  forward,  or,  if  you  do,  I'll  come  to  you 
again,  and  break  your  leg  worse  than  it  was  be- 
fore, and  not  only  that,  but  the  other  leg  also  I'll 
break  in  such  a  manner  that  all  the  surgeons  in  the 
Fenian  hosts  will  not  be  able  to  cure  it  for  you. 
As  for  these  sixteen  impostors  that  pretended  to 
treat  it  for  you,  not  one  of  them  shall  ever  walk 
without  a  limp  from  this  time  forward." 

"  I  promise  you  I  will  remember  what  you 
say,"  replied  MacEocha ;  "  and,  to  make  a  begin- 


98  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

ning,  come  in  now  and  partake  of  a  magnificent 
banquet  which  shall  be  prepared  on  the  instant 
for  you  and  your  companion." 

They  entered  the  house,  and  were  followed  by 
the  sixteen  physicians,  who  shortly  after  came 
limping  across  the  threshold.  However,  while 
MacEocha  was  ordering  the  banquet,  an  atten- 
dant ran  to  tell  him  that  the  Ulster  doctor  was 
running  down  the  hill  which  sloped  away  from 
the  door,  faster  than  a  greyhound  with  a  hare  in 
his  eye.  MacEocha  was  so  much  surprised  at 
his  abrupt  departure  that  he  made  these  lines, 
which  were  often  repeated  after  him : 

Though  my  trust  in  his  skill  and  his  learning  is  high, 
I'd  have  liked  him  the  better  for  bidding  good-by: 
If  the  doctors  of  Ulster  have  all  the  same  breeding, 
'Twere  fitter  they  stuck  to  their  cupping  and  bleeding. 

Meanwhile,  the  Story-teller  and  his  strange 
master  found  themselves  in  a  wild  heath  in  Sligo, 
where  they  beheld  O'Connor  of  Connaught,  at 
the  head  of  a  powerful  army,  with  a  vast  herd  of 
cattle  and  other  spoils  which  he  had  driven  from 
the  bondsmen  of  Munster.  The  Caol  Riava  went 
up  and  saluted  him. 

"Save  you,  O'Connor,1'  he  said  boldly. 

"And  you  likewise,"  replied  the  monarch. 
"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Call  me  Giolla  De,"  said  the  Caol  Riava. 
"  What  is  the  cause  of  the  confusion  which  I 
observe  amongst  your  forces?  " 

"  We  are  expecting  an  attack  from  the  Munster 


The  Story-Teller  at  Fault.  99 

men,"  replied  the  king,  "and  are  at  a  loss  how 
to  drive  the  spoils  and  repel  the  enemy  at  the 
same  time." 

"  What  made  you  drive  them  at  all?"  said  the 
Caol  Riava. 

"You  know,"  replied  the  king,  "that  a  monarch 
ought  always  to  be  ready  to  redress  the  slightest 
grievance  of  his  subjects.  Now,  it  happened  that 
a  Connaught  woman  lent  a  basket  to  a  woman 
of  her  acquaintance  in  Munster,  who  refused  to 
return  it  at  the  appointed  time.  I  heard  of  the 
injury,  and  immediately  raised  an  army  to  avenge 
it.  I  am  now  returning  with  the  spoils,  a  portion 
of  which  I  intend  to  bestow  on  the  poor  woman 
who  lost  her  basket." 

"And  what  will  you  do  with  the  rest?"  en- 
quired the  Giolla  De. 

"  I  will  keep  them  myself,"  said  the  king,  "  to 
signalize  my  victory,  and  enhance  the  national 
glory,  after  the  way  of  all  great  kings." 

"  I'm  afraid  it  will  give  you  enough  to  do," 
replied  the  Caol  Riava,  "  for,  before  you  leave 
this  heath,  you  will  have  more  Munster  men  to 
meet  you  than  there  are  purple  bells  all  over 
it." 

"  That's  what  I  fear,"  said  the  king. 

"  What  will  you  give  me  if  I  help  you  ?  "  said 
the  Caol  Riava. 

"  You !  "  cried  one  of  O'Connor's  men,  with  a 
burst  of  laughter.  "  It  cannot  make  much  differ- 
ence to  O'Connor  whether  you  go  or  stay." 


ioo  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"What  reward  would  you  require?"  asked 
O'Connor. 

"  A  share,  little  or  much,  of  anything-  you  may 
get  while  I  am  with  }7ou,"  replied  the  Giolla  De. 

"  Agreed,"  exclaimed  the  king. 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  Giolla  De  ;  "  do  you  hold 
on  your  journey,  driving  your  spoils,  while  I  coax 
the  Munster  men  home  again." 

The  king  proceeded,  and  saw  nothing  of  the 
men  of  Munster  until  he  reached  his  own  do- 
main, where  he  arrived  before  any  of  his  reti- 
nue. As  he  did  so,  he  perceived  the  Giolla  De 
and  the  Story-teller  again  by  his  side.  Wearied 
from  the  fatigue  of  the  expedition,  after  wel- 
coming them,  he  entered  a  sheiling  by  the  way- 
side, and  called  for  a  drink.  It  was  brought, 
and  he  drank  it  off  without  even  thinking  of  the 
Giolla  De. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  forget  your  agreement," 
said  the  latter. 

"  Do  you  call  that  trifle  a  breach  of  my  agree- 
ment?" said  the  king. 

"  Ah  !"  replied  the  Giolla  De,  "it  is  trifles  that 
show  the  mind.  You  went  to  war  for  a  basket, 
and  you  call  a  cup  of  wine  a  trifle."  And  he  imme- 
diately spoke  these  lines: 

The  wrong  a  king  doth,  were  it  huge  as  a  mountain, 
He  weighs  it  no  more  than  a  drop  from  the  fountain  ; 
The  wrong  a  king  suffers,  though  light  as  a  bubble, 
Sends  fools  to  the  slaughter,  and  kingdoms  to  trouble. 
Thenceforth  I'll  not  swear  by  the  weight  of  a  feather, 
Nor  the  firmness  of  ice  in  the  sunny  spring  weather; 


The  Story-Teller  at  Fault.  101 

But  I'll  swear  by  a  lighter,  more  slippery  thing, 
And  my  troth  shall  be  plight,  by  the  word  of  a  king. 

The  instant  he  had  uttered  these  lines,  the  Caol 
Riava  and  the  Story-teller  vanished  from  the  eyes 
of  O'Connor,  who  looked  around  for  them  in  vain 
in  all  directions.  But  what  astonished  him  still 
more  was  that  not  a  particle  of  all  the  spoils  he 
had  driven  from  Munster  remained  with  his  host, 
nor  could  anything  be  found  throughout  the  whole 
army  but  an  old  basket,  which  the  Connaught 
woman  already  spoken  of  recognized  as  the  one 
she  had  lent  to  the  Munster  woman.  While  all 
were  wondering  at  those  strange  events,  the  Caol 
Riava  and  the  astonished  Story-teller  approached 
the  house  of  a  man  named  Thady  O'Kelly,  who  at 
that  moment  happened  to  be  sitting  at  his  own 
door,  in  the  midst  of  his  friends  and  depen- 
dents. The  Caol  Riava  drew  near,  dressed  in  the 
same  tattered  garments  as  usual,  and  bearing  a 
white  crooked  wand  in  his  hand. 

"  Save  you,  Thady  O'Kelly,"  said  the  Caol 
Riava. 

"  And  you  likewise,"  replied  Thady.  "  From 
whence  do  you  come?" 

"  From  the  house  of  O'Connor,  Sligo,"  answered 
the  Caol  Riava. 

"  What  is  your  occupation?"  asked  Thady. 

"  I  am  a  travelling  juggler,"  replied  the  stranger, 
"  and  if  you  promise  to  give  me  five  pieces  of  sil- 
ver, I  will  perform  a  trick  for  you." 

"  I  do  promise  you,"  said  Thady. 


102  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

The  Caol  Riava  then  took  three  small  sweats  or 
leeks,  and  placed  them  lengthwise  on  his  hand, 
and  said  he  would  blow  out  the  middle  one  and 
leave  the  two  others  in  their  places.  All  present 
said  that  such  a  feat  was  perfectly  impossible,  for 
the  three  siveens  were  so  light  and  lay  so  close 
together  that  the  breath  which  carried  away  one 
must  necessarily  take  the  two  others  also.  How- 
ever, the  Caol  Riava  put  his  two  fingers  on  the 
two  outside  leeks,  and  then  blew  away  that  which 
was  in  the  middle. 

"  There's  a  trick  for  you,  Thady  O'Kelly,"  said 
the  Caol  Riava. 

"  I  declare  to  my  heart,"  said  Thady,  "  'tis  a 
good  one."  And  he  paid  him  the  five  pieces  of  sil- 
ver. 

"  Why,  then,  that  he  may  get  good  of  your 
money,  himself,  and  his  trick,"  said  one  of  O'Kelly 's 
men,  "  if  you  gave  me  half  what  you  gave  him,  I'll 
engage  I'd  perform  the  same  trick  as  well  as  he 
did  it." 

"  Oh  !  'tis  easy  enough  to  do  it,"  said  Thady. 

"  Take  him  at  his  word,"  said  the  Caol  Riava. 
"  I'd  wager  anything  he  fails,  for  I  never  saw  a 
boaster  succeed  in  anything  he  attempted." 

Thady  commanded  him  to  proceed,  and  the 
fellow  placed  three  siveens  on  his  hand,  and,  laying 
his  two  fingers  on  the  outside  ones,  was  about  to 
blow  away  that  in  the  centre.  However,  he  had 
scarcely  done  so  much,  when  his  two  fingers  went 
down  through  the  palm  of  his  hand  in  such  a  man- 


m 


The  Story  Teller  at  Fault.  103 

ner  that  the  tips  appeared  at  the  back,  and  would 
have  remained  so  in  all  likelihood  to  the  day  of  his 
death,  if  the  Clcasaiye,  or  juggler,  had  not  rubbed 
an  herb  upon  the  place  and  healed  it. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "you  perceive  that  everything 
is  not  easy  that  looks  so.  But  if  you  Thady 
O'Kelly,  will  give  me  five  pieces  more,  I'll  do 
another  trick  for  you  as  good  as  the  last." 

"You  shall  have  them,"  answered  Thady,  "if 
you  let  us  hear  what  it  is  to  be.'' 

"Do  you  see  my  two  ears?"  said  the  juggler, 
thrusting  his  head  forward. 

"  What  a  show  they  are  !  "  said  Thady.  "  To 
be  sure  we  do." 

"  Well,  will  you  give  me  five  pieces  if  I  stir  one 
of  my  ears  without  stirring  the  other?  " 

"  Indeed  I  will,"  said  Thady ;  "  that  is  impos- 
sible, at  all  events,  for  you  can  only  move  the 
ears  by  moving  the  whole  scalp  of  your  head, 
and  then  both  must  move  together." 

The  juggler  put  up  his  hand,  and,  catching  hold 
of  one  ear,  stirred  it. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Thady  ;  "you  have  won 
my  five  pieces  again,  and  that  is  a  very  good 
trick. 

"  He's  welcome  home  to  us  with  his  tricks," 
said  the  same  man  who  spoke  before,  "  if  he  calls 
that  a  trick.  Only  I  was  so  hasty  and  so  awk- 
ward awhile  ago,  I  could  have  done  the  trick 
well  enough,  but  there's  no  great  art  required 
for  this  at  all  events." 


104  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

So  saying-,  he  put  up  his  hand  and  stirred  his 
ear,  but,  to  his  astonishment  and  terror,  it  came 
away  between  his  fingers !  However,  the  juggler 
rubbed  an  herb  once  more  to  the  place,  and 
healed  it  as  before. 

"Well,  Thady  O'Kelly,"  said  the  juggler,  "I 
will  now  show  you  a  more  curious  trick  than 
either  of  those  if  you  give  me  the  same  money." 

"  You  have  my  word  for  it,"  said  Thady. 

The  juggler  then  took  out  of  his  bag  a  large 
ball  of  thread,  and,  folding  the  end  around  his 
finger,  flung  it  slantwise  up  into  the  air.  Up  it 
flew,  unrolling  as  it  proceeded,  while  all  gazed 
after  it,  lost  in  wonder,  until  it  disappeared 
amongst  the  clouds.  He  next  took  out  of  his 
bag  a  fine  hare,  which  he  placed  on  the  thread, 
when,  to  the  increasing  astonishment  of  the  be- 
holders, the  animal  ran  up  the  line  with  as  much 
dexterity  as  if  she  had  been  all  her  life  at  Astley's 
or  Vauxhall.  He  next  took  out  a  greyhound, 
which  he  placed  on  the  thread  in  like  manner, 
when  the  animal  stretched  away  after  the  hare 
with  as  much  zest  and  security  as  if  both  were 
on  the  Curragh  of  Kildare  on  a  March  morning. 

"  Now,"  said  the  Caol  Riava,  "  has  any  one  a 
mind  to  run  up  after  the  dog,  and  see  the  course?" 

"  I  will,"  said  the  man  who  had  spoken  twice 
before. 

"You  are  always  ready,"  said  the  jugglei, 
"  but  I  fear  you  are  lazy,  for  you  are  almost  as 
broad    as   you   are   long,   and    I'm    afraid   you'll 


The  Story-Teller  at  Fault.  105 

fall  asleep  on  the  way  and  let  the  hound  eat  the 
hare." 

"  There  is  not  a  more  active  man  in  the  known 
world  than  the  very  individual  who  is  talking-  to 
you  now,"  said  the  fat  man. 

"  Up  with  you,  then,"  said  the  juggler,  "but  I 
warn  you,  if  you  let  my  hare  be  killed,  I'll  cut  off 
your  head  when  you  come  down." 

The  fat  fellow  ran  up  the  thread,  and  all  three 
soon  disappeared.  After  looking  up  for  a  long 
time,  the  Caol  Riava  said  : 

"  I'm  afraid  the  hound  is  eating  the  hare,  and 
that  our  fat  friend  has  fallen  asleep." 

Saying  this,  he  began  to  wind  the  thread,  and 
found  the  case  as  he  had  suspected  it  to  be — the 
fat  man  fast  asleep,  and  the  greyhound  with  the 
last  morsel  of  the  hare  between  his  teeth.  He 
immediately  drew  his  sword,  and  cut  off  the  young 
man's  head  at  a  blow. 

At  this  Thady  O'Kelly  stood  up,  and  said  he 
did  not  relish  such  conduct,  and  that  it  was  not 
a  thing  he  could  ever  sanction  to  see  a  young  man 
murdered  in  that  manner  under  his  roof. 

"  If  it  grieves  you,"  said  the  juggler,  "  I  think 
as  little  of  curing  him  now  as  I  did  before ;  but  I 
must  leave  him  some  mark  to  make  him  remember 
his  rashness." 

So  saying,  he  placed  the  head  upon  the  shoul- 
ders again,  and  healed  them,  but  in  such  a  manner 
that  the  countenance  looked  the  wrong  way,  after 
which  he  spoke  these  lines: 


106  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

What  I  take  at  my  ease,  at  my  ease  I  restore ; 
It  becomes  him  much  better,  I'm  sure,  than  before: 
If  any  man  says  I  have  wronged  him  thereby. 
Tell  that  man  from  me  that  I  give  him  the  lie  ; 
For  an  insolent  braggart  is  odder  to  see 
Than  a  fool  with  his  face  where  his  poll  ought  to  be. 

The  Caol  Riava  had  scarcely  uttered  those  lines, 
when  he  and  the  Story-teller  disappeared,  nor 
could  any  person  present  tell  whether  they  had 
flown  into  the  air,  or  whether  the  earth  had  swal- 
lowed them.  The  next  place  the  Story-teller 
found  himself  with  his  whimsical  master  was  in 
the  palace  of  the  King  of  Leinster,  where  the  cus- 
tomary evening  banquet  was  on  the  point  of  being 
prepared.  The  Story-teller  was  grieved  and  per- 
plexed to  hear  the  king  continually  asking  for  his 
favorite  Story-teller,  while  no  one  present  was 
able  to  give  any  account  of  him. 

"  Now,"  said  the  Caol  Riava,  turning  to  him,  "  I 
have  rendered  you  invisible  in  order  that  you  may 
witness  all  that  is  about  to  take  place  here,  with- 
out being  recognized  by  any  of  your  daily  acquaint 
ances." 

So  saying,  he  sat  down  close  to  the  musicians, 
who  were  playing  in  concert  at  the  time.  Observ- 
ing the  attention  which  he  paid,  the  chief  musician 
said,  when  they  concluded  : 

"  Well,  my  good  man,  I  hope  you  like  our  per- 
formance ?  " 

"I'll  tell  you  that,"  replied  the  Caol  Riava. 
"  Were  you  ever  listening  to  a  cat  purring  over  a 
bowl  of  broth?" 


The  Story- Teller  at  Fault.  107 

"  I  often  heard  it,"  replied  the  chief  musician. 

"  Or  did  you  ever  hear  a  parcel  of  beetles  buzz- 
ing about  in  the  dusk  on  a  summer  evening  ?" 

"  I  did,"  said  the  chief  musician. 

"  Or  a  bitter-faced  old  woman  scolding  in  a 
passion  ?" 

"  I  did  often,"  said  the  chief  musician,  who  was 
a  married  man. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  Caol  Riava,  "  I'd  rather 
be  listening  to  any  one  of  them  than  to  your 
music."  ^ 

"You  insolent  ragamuffin,"  said  the  chief  musi- 
cian, "  it  well  becomes  you  to  express  yourself  in 
that  manner." 

"  You  are  the  last  that  ought  to  say  so,"  replied 
the  Caol  Riava,  "  for  though  bad  is  the  best  of 
the  whole  of  you,  yet,  if  I  were  to  look  out  for  the 
worst,  I  should  never  stop  till  I  lighted  on  your- 
self." 

At  these  words,  the  chief  musician  arose,  and, 
drawing  his  sword,  made  a  blow  at  the  Caol  Riava, 
but,  instead  of  striking  him,  he  wounded  one  of 
his  own  party,  who  returned  the  blow  forthwith, 
and  in  a  little  time  the  whole  band  of  musicians 
were  engaged  in  mortal  conflict  one  with  another. 
While  all  this  confusion  prevailed,  an  attendant 
came  and  awoke  the  king,  who  had  been  taking 
a  nap  while  the  music  played. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?"  said  the  king. 

"  The  harpers  that  are  murthering  one  another, 
please  your  majesty." 


108  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"  Please  me !"  cried  the  King  of  Leinster,  "  it 
does  not  please  me.  They  ought  to  be  satisfied 
with  murdering  all  the  music  in  my  kingdom, 
without  murdering  the  musicians  too.  Who 
began  it  ?"  says  his  majesty. 

"  A  stranger  that  thought  proper  to  find  fault 
with  their  music,"  replied  the  attendant. 

"  Let  him  be  hanged,"  said  the  king,  "and  do 
not  disturb  me  again  about  him." 

Accordingly,  some  of  the  king's  guards  took 
the  Caol  Riava,  and  carried  him  out  to  a  place 
where  they  erected  a  gallows,  and  hanged  him 
without  loss  of  time.  However,  on  returning  to 
the  palace,  they  found  the  Caol  Riava  within  sit- 
ting among  the  guests,  without  having  the  least 
appearances  of  having  been  ever  hanged  in  his 
life. 

"  Never  welcome  you  in  !"  cried  the  captain  of 
the  guard.  "  Didn't  we  hang  you  this  minute,  and 
what  brings  you  here?" 

"Is  it  me  myself  you  mean?"  said  the  Caol 
Riava. 

"  Who  else  ?"  said  the  captain. 

"  That  the  hand  may  turn  into  a  pig's  foot  with 
you  when  you  think  of  tying  the  rope,"  said  the 
Caol  Riava,  "  why  should  you  speak  of  hanging 
me." 

They  went  out  in  alarm,  and,  to  their  horror, 
found  the  king's  favorite  brother, hanging  in  the 
place  of  the  Caol  Riava.  One  of  them  went  to 
the  king,  and  woke  him  up. 


The  Scory-Tcllcr  at  Fault.  109 

"  What's    the   matter   now  ?"    cried    th<    kin 


to> 


yawning  and  stretching  himself. 

"  Please  your  majesty,  we  hanged  that  vaga- 
bond according  to  your  majesty's  orders,  and  he's 
as  well  as  ever  again  now  in  spite  of  us."  He  was 
afraid  of  telling  him  about  his  brother. 

"  Take  him  and  hang  him  again,  then,  and  don't 
be  disturbing  me  about  such  trifles,"  said  the 
King  of  Leinster,  and  he  went  off  to  sleep  again. 

They  did  as  he  recommended,  and  the  same 
scene  was  repeated  three  times  over,  and  at  each 
time  some  near  friend  or  favorite  kinsman  of  the 
king  was  hanged  instead  of  the  Caol  Riava.  By 
this  time  the  captain  of  the  guard  was  fairly  at 
his  wit's  end. 

"  Well,"  said  the  Caol  Riava,  "  do  you  wish  to 
hang  me  any  more  ?" 

"  We'll  have  no  more  to  say  to  you,"  said  the 
captain  ;  "you  may  go  wherever  you  like,  and  the 
sooner  the  better.  We  got  trouble  enough  by 
you  already.  May  be  'tis  the  king  himself  we'd 
find  hanging  the  next  time  we  tried  it." 

"  Since  you  are  growing  so  reasonable,"  said  the 
Caol  Riava,  "  you  may  go  out  now,  and  take  your 
three  friends  down  again.  They  will  not  be  so 
much  the  worse  for  their  experience  but  they 
can  thank  you  for  finding  them  more  comfortable 
quarters  ;  and  1  give  you  a  parting  advice,  never 
while  you  live  again  to  interpose  between  a  critic 
and  a  poet,  a  man  and  his  wife,  or  a  mother  and  an 
only  child."     After  which  he  spoke  these  lines: 


HO  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

He  who  censures  a  strain  which  a  minstrel  composes 
Must  lie  upon  something  less  grateful  than  roses ; 
He  who  takes  up  a  quarrel  begun  by  a  poet 
May  at  bottom  have  wit,  but  lacks  wisdom  to  show  it ; 
For  than  him  a  worse  ninny  will  rarely  be  found 
Who  would  peril  his  nose  for  a  dealer  in  sound. 

Immediately  after  he  had  uttered  these  verses,  he 
disappeared,  and  the  Story-teller  found  himself  in 
company  with  him  on  the  spot  where  they  had 
first  met,  and  where  his  wife  with  the  carriage 
and  horses  were  awaiting  them,  under  the  care  of 
the  man  to  whom  the  Caol  Riava  had  entrusted 
them. 

"  Now,"  said  the  latter,  "  I  will  not  be  torment- 
ing you  any  longer.  There  are  your  carriage, 
and  horses,  and  your  dogs,  and  your  money,  and 
your  lady,  and  you  may  take  them  with  you  as 
soon  as  you  please,  for  I  have  no  business  in  life 
with  any  of  them  at  all." 

The  Story-teller  paused  for  some  moments  to 
collect  his  thoughts  before  he  made  any  reply. 

"  For  my  carriage,  and  horses,  and  hounds,"  he 
said  at  length,  "  I  thank  you,  but  my  lady  and 
my  money  you  may  keep." 

"  No,"  replied  the  bococh,  "  I  have  told  you 
that  I  do  not  want  either ;  and  do  not  harbor 
any  ill-will  against  your  lady  on  account  of  what 
she  has  done,  for  she  could  not  help  it." 

"Not  help  it!"  exclaimed  the  Story-teller. 
"  Not  help  kicking  me  into  the  mouth  of  my  own 
hounds!     Not  help  casting  me  off, ^ after  all  my 


The  Story-Teller  at  Fault.  ill 

kindness  to  her,  in  favor  of  a  beggarly  old — I 
beg  pardon,"  he  said,  correcting  himself,  "  I  ought 
not  to  speak  in  that  way,  but  a  woman's  ingrati- 
tude will  make  a  man  forget  his  good  manners." 

"  No  offence  in  life,"  said  the  bococh,  "for  these 
terms  are  very  just,  and  apply  not  to  my  own  real 
form,  but  to  that  which  I  have  assumed  for  the 
purpose  of  befriending  you.  I  am  Aongus  of 
Bruff,  for  whom  you  obtained  many  a  favor  from 
the  King  of  Leinster.  This  morning  I  discovered 
by  my  skill  in  things  hidden  that  you  were  in  a 
difficulty,  and  immediately  determined  to  free  you 
from  it.  As  to  your  lady,  do  not  blame  her  for 
what  has  passed,  for,  by  the  same  power  which 
enabled  me  to  change  the  form  of  your  body,  I 
changed  the  affections  of  her  mind.  Go  home, 
therefore,  as  man  and  wife  should  do  ;  and  now 
you  have  a  story  to  tell  the  King  of  Leinster  when 
he  calls  for  it." 

Saying  this,  he  disappeared,  and  the  lady,  burst- 
ing in  tears,  begged  her  husband's  forgiveness, 
and  assured  him  that  she  would  sooner  die  a 
thousand  deaths  than  act  in  such  a  manner,  if 
some  extraordinary  influence  had  not  possessed 
her. 

This  explanation  proving  entirely  satisfactory 
to  the  Story-teller,  they  proceeded  homeward 
happily  together.  Notwithstanding  all  the  speed 
they  could  make,  it  was  so  late  when  the  Story- 
teller arrived  at  the  king's  palace  that  his  majes- 
ty had  already.- retired  to  his  sleeping-chamber. 


1 1 2  Half  Hours  with  Irish  A  uthors. 

When  the  Story-teller  entered,  the  king  enquired 
the  cause  of  his  delay. 

"Please  your  majesty,"  said  the  Storj'-teller, 
"  there  is  nothing  like  the  plain  truth,  and  I  will 
tell  it  to  you  if  you  desire  it." 

The  king  commanded  him  by  all  means  to  do 
so.  Accordingly,  the  Story-teller  began,  and 
gave  a  detailed  account  of  the  adventures  of  the 
day,  his  difficulty  in  trying  to  invent  a  story,  the 
benevolence  of  the  friendly  Draoidhe  (or  Druid), 
and  the  ingratitude  of  his  wife,  remarkable  in 
itself,  and  still  more  so  in  the  singular  manner  in 
which  it  was  explained.  When  it  was  ended,  the 
king  laughed  so  heartily,  and  was  so  diverted  with 
his  narrative,  that  he  commanded  him  to  com- 
mence the  whole  again,  and  relate  it  from  begin- 
ning to  end,  before  he  went  to  sleep.  The  Story- 
teller obeyed,  and,  when  he  had  concluded,  the 
king  commanded  him  never  again  to  go  to 
the  trouble  of  inventing  a  new  story,  but  to  tell 
him  that  one  every  night,  for  he  never  would 
listen  to  another  story  again  as  long  as  he  lived. 


SAMUEL    LOVER 


Samuel  Lover. 


s 


BARNY    O'REIRDON. 


CHAPTER  I. 

OUTWARD-BOUND. 

"Well,  he  went  further  and  further  than  I  can  tell." — Nursery 
Tale. 

AVERY  striking  characteristic  of  an  Irishman 
is  his  unwillingness  to  be  outdone.  Some 
have  asserted  that  this  arises  from  vanity,  but  I 
have  ever  been  unwilling  to  attribute  an  unami- 
able  motive  to  my  countrymen  where  a  better  may 
be  found,  and  one  equally  tending  to  produce  a 
similar  result,  and  I  consider  a  deep-seated  spirit 
of  emulation  to  originate  this  peculiarity.  Phre- 
nologists might  resolve  it  by  supposing  the  organ 
of  love  of  approbation  to  predominate  in  our  Irish 
craniums,  and  it  may  be  so  ;  but,  as  I  am  not  in 
the  least  a  metaphysician,  and  very  little  of  a 
phrenologist,  I  leave  those  who  choose  to  settle 
the  point  in  question,  quite  content  with  the 
knowledge  of  the  fact  with  which  I  started,  viz., 
the  unwillingness  of  an  Irishman  to  be  outdone. 
This  spirit,  it  is  likely,  may  sometimes  lead  men 
into  ridiculous  positions ;  but  it  is  equally  proba- 


u6  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

ble  that  the  desire  of  surpassing  one  another  has 
given  birth  to  many  of  the  noblest  actions  and 
some  of  the  most  valuable  inventions ;  let  us  there- 
fore not  fall  out  with  it. 

Now,  having  vindicated  the  motive  of  my  coun- 
trymen, I  will  prove  the  total  abstinence  of  na- 
tional prejudice  in  so  doing  by  giving  an  illustra- 
tion of  the  ridiculous  consequences  attendant 
upon  this  Hibernian  peculiarity. 

Barny  O'Reirdon  was  a  fisherman  of  Kinsale, 
and  a  heartier  fellow  never  hauled  a  net  nor  cast 
a  line  into  deep  water ;  indeed,  Barny,  independ- 
ently of  being  a  merry  boy  among  his  compa- 
nions, a  lover  of  good  fun  and  good  whiskey,  was 
looked  up  to  rather  by  his  brother  fishermen  as 
an  intelligent  fellow,  and  few  boats  brought  more 
fish  to  market  than  Barny  O'Reirdon's  ;  his  opi- 
nion on  certain  points  in  the  craft  was  considered 
law,  and,  in  short,  in  his  own  little  community, 
Barny  was  what  is  commonly  called  a  leading 
man.  Now,  your  leading  man  is  alwa)'s  jealous 
in  an  inverse  ratio  to  the  sphere  of  his  influence, 
and  the  leader  of  a  nation  is  less  incensed  at  a 
rival's  triumph  than  the  great  man  of  a  village. 
If  we  pursue  this  descending  scale,  what  a  des- 
perately jealous  person  the  oracle  of  oyster- 
dredges  and  cockle-women  must  be  !  Such  was 
Barny  O'Reirdon. 

Seated  one  night  at  a  public-house,  the  common 
resort  of  Barny  and  other  marine  curiosities,  our 
hero  got  entangled  in  debate  with  what  he  called 


Barny  O'Reirdon.  117 

a  strange  sail ;  that  is  to  say,  a  man  he  had  never 
met  before,  and  whom  he  was  inclined  to  treat 
rather  magisterially  upon  nautical  subjects ;  at 
the  same  time,  the  stranger  was  equally  inclined 
to  assume  the  high  hand  over  him,  till  at  last  the 
new-comer  made  a  regular  outbreak  by  exclaim- 
ing, "  Ah  !  tare-and-ouns,  lave  aff  your  balderdash, 
Mr.  O'Reirdon ;  by  the  powdhers  o'  war  it's 
enough,  so  it  is,  to  make  a  dog  bate  his  father,  to 
hear  you  goin'  an  as  if  you  war  Curlumberus  or 
Sir  Crustyphiz  Wran,  when  every  one  knows  the 
divil  a  farthur  you  iver  war  nor  ketchen  crabs  or 
drudgen  oj'sters." 

"  Who  towld  you  that,  my  Watherford  Won- 
dher?"  rejoined  Barny.  "  What  the  dickens  do 
you  know  about  sayfarin'  farther  nor  fishin'  for 
sprats  in  a  bowl  wid  your  grandmother  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  baithershin,"  says  the  stranger. 

"  And  who  made  you  so  bowld  with  my  name  ?" 
demanded  O'Reirdon. 

"  No  matther  for  that," said  the  stranger;  "  but 
if  you'd  like  for  to  know,  shure  it's  your  own 
cousin  Molly  Mullins  knows  me  well,  and  may  be 
I  don't  know  you  and  yours  as  well  as  the  moth- 
er that  bore  you,  aye,  in  troth  ;  and  sure  I  know 
the  very  thoughts  o'  you  as  well  as  if  I  was  inside 
o'  you,  Barny  O'Reirdon." 

"  By  my  sowl  thin,  you  know  betther  thoughts 
than  your  own,  Mr.  Whipper-snapper,  if  that's 
the  name  you  go  by." 

"  No,  it's  not  the  name  I  go  by ;  I've  as  good  a 


n8  Half  Hoars  with  Irish  Authors. 

name  as  your  own,  Mr.  O'Reirdon,  for  want  of  a 
betther,  and  that's  O'Sullivan." 

"  Throth  there's  more  than  there's  good  o' 
them,"  said  Barny. 

"  Good  or  bad,  I'm  a  cousin  o'  your  own  twice 
removed  by  the  mother's  side." 

"And  is  it  the  Widda  O'Sullivan's  boy  you'd 
be  that  left  this  come  Candlemas  four  years?  " 

"  The  same." 

"  Throth,  thin,  you  might  know  better  manners 
to  your  eldhers,  though  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  any- 
how, agin  ;  but  a  little  thravellin'  puts  us  beyant 
ourselves  sometimes,"  said  Barny  rather  con- 
temptuously. 

"  Throth  I  nivir  bragged  out  o'  myself  yit,  and 
it's  what  I  say  that  a  man  that's  only  fishin'  aff 
the  land  all  his  life  has  no  business  to  compare  in 
the  regard  o'  thracthericks  wid  a  man  that  has 
sailed  to  Fingal." 

This  silenced  any  further  argument  on  Barny 's 
part.  Where  Fingal  lay  was  all  Greek  to  him  ; 
but,  unwilling  to  admit  his  ignorance,  he  covered 
his  retreat  with  the  usual  address  of  his  country- 
men, and  turned  the  bitterness  of  debate  into  the 
cordial  flow  of  congratulation  at  seeing  his  cousin 
again. 

The  liquor  was  frequently  circulated,  and  the 
conversation  began  to  take  a  different  turn,  in 
order  to  lead  from  that  which  had  very  nearly 
ended  in  a  quarrel  between  O'Reirdon  and  his  re- 
lation.    The  state  of  the  crops,  county  cess,  road 


Barny  CReirdon.  119 

jobs,  etc.,  became  topics,  and  various  strictures  as 
to  the  utility  of  the  latter  were  indulged  in,  while 
the  merits  of  the  neighboring  farmers  were  can- 
vassed. 

"  Why,  thin,"  said  one,  "  that  field  o'  whate  o' 
Michael  Coghlan  is  the  finest  field  o'  whate  mor- 
tial  eyes  was  ever  set  upon — divil  the  likes  iv  it 
myself  ever  seen  far  or  near." 

"  Throth,  thin,  sure  enough,"  said  another,  "  it 
promises  to  be  a  fine  crap  anyhow,  and  myself 
can't  help  thinkin'  it  quare  that  Mikee  Coghlan. 
that's  a  plain-spoken,  quite  (quiet)  man,  and  sim- 
ple like,  should  have  finer  craps  than  Pether  Kelly 
o'  the  big  farm  beyant,  that  knows  all  about  the 
great  saycrets  o'  the  airth,  and  is  knowledgable 
to  a  degree,  and  has  all  the  hard  words  that  ivir 
was  coined,  at  his  fingers'  ends." 

"  Faith,  he  has  a  power  o'  blasthogue  about  him, 
sure  enough,"  said  the  former  speaker,  "  if  that 
could  do  him  any  good,  but  he  isn't  fit  to  hould 
a  candle  to  Michael  Coghlan  in  the  regard  o' 
farmin'." 

"  Why,  blur-and-agers,"  rejoined  the  upholder 
of  science,  "sure  he  met  the  Scotch  steward  that 
the  lord  beyant  has,  one  day,  that  I  hear  is  a 
wondherful  edicated  man,  and  was  brought  over 
here  to  show  us  all  a  patthern  ;  well,  Pether 
Kelly  met  him  one  day,  and,  by  gor,  he  discoorsed 
him  to  a  degree  that  the  Scotch  chap  hadn't  a 
word  left  in  his  jaw." 

"  Well,   and    what  was   he   the   better   o*  hav- 


120  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

ing  more  prate  than  a  Scotchman?"  asked  the 
other. 

"  Why,"  answered  Kelly's  friend,  "  I  think  it 
stands  to  rayson  that  the  man  that  done  out  the 
Scotch  steward  ought  to  know  somethin'  more 
about  farmin'  than  Mickee  Coghlan." 

"  Augh  !  don't  talk  to  me  about  knowing," 
said  the  other  rather  contemptuously.  "  Sure  I 
gev  in  to  you  that  he  has  a  power  o'  prate,  and 
the  gift  o'  the  gab,  and  all  to  that*  I  own  to  you 
that  he  has  the-o-ry  and  cke-mis-tkery,  but  he  hasn't 
the  craps.  Now,  the  man  that  has  the  craps  is 
the  man  for  my  money. 

"  You're  right,  my  boy,"  said  O'Reirdon,  with 
an  approving  thump  of  his  brawny  fist  upon  the 
table,  "  it's  a  little  talk  goes  far — doin  is  the  thing." 

"  Ah,  yiz  may  run  down  larnin'  if  yiz  like,"  said 
the  undismayed  stickler  for  theory  versus  practice, 
"  but  larnin'  is  a  fine  thing,  and  sure  where  would 
the  world  be  at  all  only  for  it ;  sure  where  would 
the  staymers  (steamboat)  be,  only  for  larnin'  ?" 

"  Well,"  said  O'Reirdon,  "  and  the  divil  may 
care  if  we  never  seen  them  ;  I'd  rather  depind  an 
wind  and  canvas  any  day  than  the  likes  o'  them  ! 
What  are  they  good  for,  but  to  turn  good  sailors 
into  kitchen-maids,  bilin'  a  big  pot  o'  wather  and 
oilin'  their  fire-irons,  and  throwin'  coals  an  the 
fire  ?  Augh !  third  staymers  is  a  disgrace  to  the 
say ;  they're  for  all  the  world  like  old  fogies, 
smokin'  from  mornin'  till  night  and  doin'  no 
good." 


Barny  O" Reirdon.  121 

"  Do  you  call  it  doin'  no  good  to  go  fasther  nor 
ships  iver  wint  before?" 

"  Pooh  ;  sure  Solomon,  queen  o'  Sheba,  said 
there  was  time  enough  for  all  things." 

"  Thrue  for  you,"  said  O'Sullivan,  "'fair  and 
aisy  goes  far  in  a  day,'  is  a  good  ould  sayin'." 

"  Well,  may  be  you'll  own  to  the  improvement 
they  re  makin'  in  the  harbor  o'  Howth  beyant, 
in  Dublin,  is  some  good." 

"  We'll  see  whether  it'll  be  an  improvement 
first,"  said  the  obdurate  O'Reirdon. 

"  Why,  man  alive,  sure  you'll  own  it's  the 
greatest  o'  good  it  is,  taken'  up  the  big  rocks  out 
o'  the  bottom  o'  the  harbor." 

"  Well,  an'  where's  the  wondher  o'  that  ?  Sure 
we  done  the  same  here." 

"  Oh  !  yis,  but  it  was  whin  the  tide  was  out  and 
the  rocks  was  bare;  but  up  at  Howth,  they  cut 
away  the  big  rocks  from  undher  the  say  intirely." 

"  Oh  !  be  aisy  ;  why,  how  could  they  do  that?" 

"  Ay,  there's  the  matther,  that's  what  larnin' 
can  do  ;  and  wondherful  it  is  intirely  !  and  the 
way  it  is,  is  this,  as  I  hear  it,  for  I  never  seen  it, 
but  heerd  it  described  by  the  lord  to  some  gintle- 
min  and  ladies  one  da)'  in  his  garden  where  I  was 
helpin'  the  gardener  to  land  some  salary  (celery). 
You  see  the  ingineer  goes  down  undher  the 
wather  intirely,  and  can  stay  there  as  long  as  he 
plazes." 

"  Whoo!  and  what  o'  that?  Sure  I  heerd  the 
long    sailor    say    that    come   from    the    Ay  stern 


122  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

Ingees  that  the  ingineers  there  can  a'most  live 
under  wather,  and  goes  down  looking  for  dia- 
monds, and  has  a  sledge-hammer  in  their  hand, 
brakin'  the  diamonds  when  they're  too  big  to  take 
them  up  whole,  all  as  one  as  men  brakin'  stones 
an  the  road." 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  to  go  beyant  that ;  but  the 
way  the  lord's  ingineer  goes  down  is  he  has  a 
little  bell  wid  him,  and,  while  he  has  that  little 
bell  to  ring,  hurt  nor  harm  can't  come  to  him." 

"  Arrah  be  aisy." 

"  Divil  a  lie  in  it." 

"  May  be  it's  a  blissed  bell,"  said  O'Reirdon, 
crossing  himself.* 

"  No,  it  is  not  a  blissed  bell." 

"  Why  thin,  now,  do  you  think  me  sitch  a  born 
nathral  as  to  give  in  to  that?  As  if  the  ringin'  iv 
the  bell,  barrin  it  was  a  blissed  bell,  could  do  the 
like.     I  tell  you  it's  unpossible." 

"  Ah  !  nothin's  unpossible  to  God." 

"  Sure  I  wasn't  denyin'  that ;  but  I  say  the  bell 
is  unpossible." 

"Why,"  said  O'Sullivan,  "you  see  he's  not 
altogether  complete  in  the  demonstheration  o'  the 
mashine;  it  is  not  by  the  ringin'  o'  the  bell  it  is 
done,  but — " 

"But  what?"  broke  in  O'Reirdon  impatiently. 

*  There  is  a  relic  in  the  possession  of  the  MacNamara  family,  in  the  county 
Clare,  called  the  "blessed  bell  of  the  MacNamaras,"  sometimes  used  to 
swear  upon  in  cases  of  extreme  urgency,  in  preference  to  the  Testament ;  for 
a  violation  of  truth,  when  sworn  upon  the  blessed  bell,  is  looked  upon  by  the 
peasantry  as  a  sacrilege,  placing  the  offender  beyond  the  pale  of  salvation. 


Barny  O ' Reirdon.  123 

"  Do  you  mane  for  to  say  there  is  a  bell  in  it  at  all 
at  all  ?" 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  O'Sullivan. 

"  I  towld  you  so,"  said  the  promulgator  of  the 
story. 

"  Ay,"  said  O'Sullivan,  "  but  it  is  not  by  the 
ringin'  iv  the  bell  it  is  done." 

"  Well,  how  is  it  done,  then?"  said  the  other, 
with  a  half  offended,  half  supercilious  air. 

"  It  is  done,"  said  O'Sullivan,  as  he  returned 
the  look  with  interest — "it  is  done  entirely  by 
jommethry.'' 

"  Oh  !  I  understan'  it  now,"  said  O'Reirdon, 
with  an  inimitable  affectation  of  comprehension  in 
the  "  Oh  !" — "  but  to  talk  of  the  ringin'  iv  a  bell  doin' 
the  like  is  beyant  the  beyants  intirely,  barrin',  as 
I  said  before,  it  was  a  blissed  bell,  glory  be  to 
God!" 

"  And  so  you  tell  me,  sir,  it  is  jommethry,"  said 
the  twice  discomfited  man  of  science. 

"  Yis,  sir,"  said  O'Sullivan  with  an  air  of 
triumph,  which  rose  in  proportion  as  he  carried 
the  listeners  along  with  him — "jommethry." 

"  Well,  have  it  your  own  way.  There's  them 
that  won't  hear  rayson  sometimes,  nor  have  belief 
in  larnin' ;  and  you  may  say  it's  jommethry  if  you 
plaze  ;  but  I  heerd  them  that  knows  betther  than 
iver  you  knew,  say — " 

"Whisht,  whisht !  and  bad  cess  to  you  both," 
said  O'Reirdon  ;  "  what  the  dickens  are  yiz  goin' 
to  fight  about  now,  and  sitch  good  liquor  before 


124  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

yiz  ?  Hillo  !  there,  Mrs.  Quigley,  bring  uz  another 
quart  i'  you  plaze  ;  ay,  that's  the  chat,  another 
quart.  Augh  !  yiz  may  talk  till  yo're  black  in  the 
face  about  your  invintions,  and  your  staymers,  and 
bell  ringin',  and  gash,  and  railroads  ;  but  here's 
long  life  and  success  to  the  man  that  i'nvinted  the 
impairil  (imperial)  quart*;  that  was  the  rail 
beautiful  invintion."  And  he  took  a  long  pull  at 
the  replenished  vessel,  which  strongly  indicated 
that  the  increase  of  its  dimensions  was  a  very 
agreeable  measure  to  such  as  Barny. 

After  the  introduction  of  this  and  other  quarts, 
it  would  not  be  an  easy  matter  to  pursue  the  con- 
versation that  followed.  Let  us  therefore  trans- 
fer our  story  to  the  succeeding  morning,  when 
Barny  O'Reirdon  strolled  forth  from  his  cottage, 
rather  later  than  usual,  with  his  eyes  bearing  eye- 
witness  to  the  carouse  of  the  preceding  night. 
He  had  not  a  headache,  however;  whether  it 
was  that  Barny  was  too  experienced  a  campaigner 
under  the  banners  of  Bacchus,  or  that  Mrs. 
Quigley's  boast  was  a  just  one,  namely,  "  that,  of 
all  the  drink  in  her  house,  there  was't  a  headache 
in  a  hogshead  of  it,"  is  hard  to  determine,  but  I 
rather  incline  to  the  strength  of  Barny 's  head. 

The  above-quoted  declaration  of  Mrs.  Quigley 
is   the    favorite  inducement   held   out   by  every 


*  Until  the  assimilation  of  currency,  weights,  and  measures  between  Eng- 
land and  Ireland,  the  Irish  quart  was  a  much  smaller  measure  than  the  Eng- 
lish. This  part  of  the  assimilation  pleased  Pat  exceedingly,  and  he  has  no 
anxiety  to  have  that  repealed. 


Barny  O' Rcirdon.  125 

boon  companion  in  Ireland  at  the  head  of  his  own 
table.  "  Don't  be  afraid  of  it,  my  boys,  it's  the 
right  sort.  There's  not  a  headache  in  a  hogs- 
head of  it." 

This  sentiment  has  been  very  seductively 
rendered  by  More,  with  the  most  perfect  uncon- 
sciousness on  his  part  of  the  likeness  he  was  insti- 
tuting.    Who  does  not  remember — 

"  Friend  of  my  soul,  this  goblet  sip, 

'Twill  chase  the  pensive  tear  ; 
"Tis  not  so  sweet  as  woman's  lip 

But,  oh  !  'tis  more  sincere  : 
Like  her  delusive  beam, 

'Twill  steal  away  the  mind  ; 
But,  like  affection's  dream, 

It  leaves  no  sting  behind." 

Is  not  this  very  elegantly  saying  "  there's  not  a 
headache  in  a  hogshead  of  it"  ?  But  I  am  forget- 
ting my  story  all  this  time. 

Barny  sauntered  about  in  the  sun,  at  which  he 
often  looked  up,  under  the  shelter  of  compressed 
bushy  brows,  and  long-lashed  eyelids,  and  a 
shadowing  hand  across  his  forehead,  to  see  "  what 
o'  day"  it  was;  and,  from  the  frequency  of  this 
action,  it  was  evident  the  day  was  hanging  heavily 
with  Barny.  He  retired  at  last  to  a  sunny  nook 
in  a  neighboring  field,  and,  stretching  himself  at 
full  length,  basked  in  the  sun,  and  began  "  to 
chew  the  cud  of  sweet  and  bitter  thought."  He 
first  reflected  on  his  own  undoubted  weight  in  his 
little  community,  but  still  he  could  not  get  over 


126  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

the  annoyance  of  the  preceding  night,  arising 
from  his  being  silenced  by  O'Sullivan  ;  "a  chap," 
as  he  said  himself,  "  that  lilt  the  place  four  years 
agon  a  brat  iv  a  boy,  and  to  think  iv  his  comin* 
back  and  outdoin'  his  elders,  that  saw  him  runnin' 
about  the  place  a  gassoon  that  one  could  tache  a 
few  months  before  "  ;  'twas  too  bad.  Barny  saw 
his  reputation  was  in  a  ticklish  position,  and  began 
to  consider  how  his  disgrace  could  be  retrieved. 
The  very  name  of  Fingal  was  hateful  to  him  ; 
it  was  a  plague  spot  on  his  peace  that  festered 
there  incurably.  He  first  thought  of  leaving  Kin- 
sale  altogether;  but  flight  implied  so  much  of 
defeat  that  he  did  not  long  indulge  in  that  notion. 
No,  he  would  stay,  "in  spite  of  all  the  O'Sulli- 
vans,  kith  and  kin,  breed,  seed,  and  generation." 
But,  at  the  same  time,  he  knew  he  should  never 
hear  the  end  of  that  hateful  place,  Fingal ;  and,  if 
Barny  had  had  the  power,  he  would  have  enacted 
a  penal  statute  making  it  death  to  name  the 
accursed  spot,  wherever  it  was;  but,  not  being 
gifted  with  such  legislative  authority,  he  felt  Kin- 
sale  was  no  place  for  him,  if  he  would  not  submit 
to  be  flouted  every  hour  out  of  the  four-and- 
twenty  by  man,  woman,  and  child  that  wished 
to  annoy  him.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  He  was 
in  the  perplexing  situation,  to  use  his  own  words, 
"  of  the  cat  in  the  thripe  shop  " — he  didn't  know 
which  way  to  choose.  At  last,  after  turning  himself 
over  in  the  sun  several  times,  a  new  idea  struck 
him.     Couldn't  he  go  to  Fingal  himself?   And  then 


Barny  O'Reirdon.  127 

he'd  be  equal  to  that  upstart  O'Sullivan.  No 
sooner  was  the  thought  engendered  than  Barny 
sprang  to  his  feet  a  new  man  ;  his  eye  bright- 
ened, his  step  became  once  more  elastic,  he 
walked  erect,  and  felt  himself  to  be  all  over  Barny 
O'Reirdon  once  more — "  Richard  was  himself 
again." 

But  where  was  Fingal  ? — there  was  the  rub. 
That  was  a  profound  mystery  to  Barny,  which, 
until  discovered,  must  hold  him  in  the  vile  bond- 
age of  inferiority.  The  plain-dealing  reader 
would  say,  "Couldn't  he  ask?"  No,  no;  that 
would  never  do  for  Barny ;  that  would  be  an 
open  admission  of  ignorance  his  soul  was  above ; 
and,  consequently,  Barny  set  his  brains  to  work  to 
devise  measures  of  coming  at  the  hidden  know- 
ledge by  some  circuitous  route  that  would  not 
betray  the  end  he  was  working  for.  To  this  pur- 
pose, fifty  stratagems  were  raised  and  demolished 
in  half  as  many  minutes  in  the  fertile  brain  of 
Barny  as  he  strided  along  the  shore,  and,  as  he 
was  working  hard  at  the  fifty-first,  it  was  knocked 
all  to  pieces  by  his  jostling  against  some  one 
whom  he  never  perceived  he  was  approaching,  so 
immersed  was  he  in  his  speculations  ;  and,  on  look- 
ing up,  who  should  it  prove  to  be  but  his  friend, 
"  the  long  sailor  from  the  Aystern  Injees."  This 
was  quite  a  godsend  to  Barny,  and  much  beyond 
what  he  could  have  hoped  for.  Of  all  men  under 
the  sun,  the  long  sailor  was  the  man  in  a  million 
for  Barny's  net  at  that  minute,  and  accordingly 


128  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

he  made  a  haul  of  him,  and  thought  it  the  greatest 
catch  he  ever  made  in  his  life. 

Barny  and  the  long  sailor  were  in  close  com- 
panionship for  the  remainder  of  the  day,  which 
was  closed,  as  the  preceding  one,  in  a  carouse ; 
but,  on  this  occasion,  there  was  only  a  duet  per- 
formance in  honor  of  the  jolly  god,  and  the  treat 
was  at  Barny 's  expense.  What  the  nature  of 
their  conversation  during  the  period  was  I  will 
not  dilate  on,  but  keep  it  as  profound  a  secret  as 
Barny  himself  did,  and  content  myself  with  saying 
that  Barny  looked  a  much  happier  man  the  next 
day.  Instead  of  wearing  his  hat  slouched,  and 
casting  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  he  walked  about 
with  his  usual  unconcern,  and  gave  his  nod,  the 
passing  word  of  "  civilitude"  to  every  friend  he 
met ;  he  rolled  his  quid  of  tobacco  about  in  his  jaw 
with  an  air  of  superior  enjoyment,  and,  if  disturbed 
in  his  narcotic  amusement  by  a  question,  he  took 
his  own  time  to  eject  "  the  leperous  distilment  " 
before  he  answered  the  querist,  a  happy  com- 
posure that  bespoke  a  man  quite  at  ease  with 
himself.  It  was  in  this  agreeable  spirit  that 
Barny  bent  his  course  to  the  house  of  Peter 
Kelly,  the  owner  of  the  "  big  farm  beyant  "  before 
alluded  to,  in  order  to  put  in  practice  a  plan  he 
had  formed  for  the  fulfilment  of  his  determination 
of  rivalling  O'Sullivan. 

He  thought  it  probable  that  Peter  Kelly,  being 
one  of  the  "  snuggest  men  in  the  neighborhood, 
would  be  a  likely  person  to  join  him  in  a  spec," 


Barny  CReirdon.  129 

as  he  called  it  (a  favorite  abbreviation  of  his  for 
the  word  speculation),  and  accordingly,  when  he 
reached  the  "-big  farm  house,"  he  accosted  the 
owner  with  his  usual  "  Good  save  you  !"  "  God 
save  you  kindly,  Barny,"  returned  Peter  Kelly. 
"  An'  what  is  it  brings  you  here,  Barny,"  asked 
Peter,  "  this  fine  da)*,  instead  o'  being  out  in  the 
boat?" — "  Oh  !  I'll  be  out  in  the  boat  soon  enough, 
and  it's  far  enough,  too,  I'll  be  in  her ;  an'  indeed 
it's  partly  that  same  is  bringin'  me  here  to  your- 
self." 

"  Why,  do  you  want  me  to  go  along  wid  you, 
Barny  ?" 

"Troth  an'  I  don't,  Mr.  Kelly.  You're  a 
knowledgable  man  an  land,  but  I'm  afeard  it's  a 
bad  bargain  you'd  be  at  say." 

"  And  what  wor  you  talking  about  me  and  your 
boat  for?" 

"  Why,  you  see,  sir,  it  was  in  the  regard  of  a 
little  bit  o'  business,  an',  if  you'd  come  wid  me  and 
take  a  turn  in  the  praty-field,  I'll  be  behouldin'  to 
you,  and  may  be  you'll  hear  somethin'  that  won't 
be  displazin'  to  you." 

"  An'  welkim,  Barny,"  said  Peter  Kelly. 

When  Barny  and  Peter  were  in  the  "  praty- 
field,"  Barny  opened  the  trenches  (I  don't  mean 
the  potato  trenches),  but,  in  military  parlance,  he 
opened  the  trenches,  and  laid  siege  t  Peter  Kelly, 
setting  forth  the  extensive  profits  that  had  been 
realized  at  various  "specs "  that  had  been  made 
by  his  neighbors  in   exporting  potatoes.     "  And 


130  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

sure,"  said  Barny,  "  why  shouldn't  you  do  the 
same,  and  they  are  ready  to  your  hand?  As  much 
as  to  say,  Why  don't  you  profit  by  we,  Piter  Kelly  ? 
And  the  boat  is  below  there  in  the  harbor,  and 
I'll  say  this  much,  the  devil  a  betther  boat  is 
betune  this  and  herself." 

"  Indeed,  I  b'lieve  so,  Barny,"  said  Peter,  "for, 
considhering  where  we  stand  at  this  present, 
there's  no  boat  at  all  at  all  betune  us."  And  Peter 
laughed  with  infinite  pleasure  at  his  own  hit. 

"Oh!  well,  you  know  what  I  mane,  any  how; 
an',  as  I  said  before,  the  boat  is  a  darlint  boat,  and 
as  for  him  that  commands  her — I  b'lieve  I  need 
say  nothin'  about  that."  And  Barny  gave  a  toss  of 
his  head  and  a  sweep  of  his"  open  hand,  more  than 
doubling  the  laudatory  nature  of  his  comment  on 
himself. 

But,  as  the  Irish  saying  is,  "to  make  a  long 
story  short,"  Barny  prevailed  on  Peter  Kelly  to 
make  an  export;  but  in  the  nature  of  the  venture 
they  did  not  agree.  Barny  had  proposed  pota- 
toes ;  Peter  said  there  were  enough  of  them 
already  where  he  was  going;  and  Barny  rejoined 
that  "  praties  were  so  good  in  themselves  there 
never  could  be  too  much  o'  thim  anywhere." 
But  Peter,  being  a  knowledgable  man,  and  up  to 
all  'lsaycretso'  the  airth,  and  understanding  the 
the-o-ry  and  the  che-mis-thery,"  overruled  Barny 's 
proposition,  and  determined  upon  a  cargo  of  seal- 
pcens  (which  name  they  gave  to  pickled  mackerel) 
as    a    preferable    merchandise,    quite     forgetting 


Barny   0 'Reirdon.  131 

that  Dublin  Bay  herrings  were  a  much  belter 
and  as  cheap  a  commodity,  at  the  command  of  the 
Fingalians.  But  in  many  similar  mistakes  the 
ingenious  Mr.  Kelly  has  been  paralleled  by  other 
speculators.  But  that  is  neither  here  nor  there, 
and  it  was  all  one  to  Barny  whether  his  boat  was 
freighted  with  potatoes  or  scalpeens,  so  long  as  he 
had  the  honor  and  glory  of  becoming  a  navigator, 
and  being  as  good  as  O'Sullivan. 

Accordingly  the  boat  was  laden  and  all  got  in 
readiness  for  putting  to  sea,  and  nothing  was  now 
wanting  but  Barny 's  orders  to  haul  up  the  gaff 
and  shake  out  the  jib  of  his  hooker. 

But  this  order  Barny  refrained  to  give,  and,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life,  exhibited  a  disinclination 
to  leave  the  shore.  One  of  his  fellow-boatmen  at 
last  said  to  him  :  "  Why,  thin,  Barny  O'Reirdon, 
what  the  divil  is  come  over  you,  at  all  at  all? 
What's  the  maynin'  of  your  loitherin'  about  here, 
and  the  boat  ready,  and  a  lovely  fine  breeze  aff  o' 
the  land?" 

"  Oh  !  never  you  mind  ;  I   b'lieve  I  know  my 
own  business  anyhow,  an'  it's  hard,  so  it  is,  if  a 
man  can't  ordher  his  own  boat  to  sail  when   he 
*    plazes." 

"  Oh  !  I  was  only  thinking  it  quare — and  a  pit)' 
more  betoken,  as  I  said  before,  to  lose  the  beauti- 
ful breeze,  and — " 

"  Well,  just  keep  your  thoughts  to  yourself,  i' 
you  plaze,  and  stay  in  the  boat  as  I  bid  you,  and 
don't  be  out  of  her  on  your  apperl,  by  no  manner 


132  Half  Hours  zvith  Irish  Authors. 

o'  manes,  for  one  minit,  for  you  see  I  don't  know 
when  it  may  be  plazin'  to  me  to  go  aboord  an'  set 
sail." 

"Well,  all  I  can  say  is  I  never  seen  you  afeard 
to  go  to  say  before." 

"  Who  says  I'm  afeard  ? "  said  O'Reirdon  ; 
"you'd  betther  not  say  that  agin,  or  in  troth  I'll 
give  you  a  leatherin'  that  won't  be  for  the  good  o' 
your  health — troth,  for  three  straws  this  minit  I'd 
lave  you  that  your  own  mother  wouldn't  know 
you  with  the  lickin'  I'd  give  you  ;  but  I  scorn 
your  dirty  insinuation  ;  no  man  ever  seen  Barny 
O'Reirdon  afeard  yet,  anyhow.  Howld  your 
prate,  I  tell  you,  and  look-up  to  your  betthers. 
What  do  you  know  iv  navigation?  May  be  you 
think  it's  as  aisy  for  to  sail  on  a  voyage  as  to  go 
start  a-fishin'."  And  Barny  turned  on  his  heel, 
and  left  the  shore. 

The  next  day  passed  without  the  hooker  sail- 
ing, and  Barny  gave  a  most  sufficient  reason  for 
the  delay,  by  declaring  that  he  had  a  warnin' 
givin'  him  in  a  dhrame  (Glory  be  to  God  !),  and 
that  it  was  given  to  him  to  understand  (under 
Heaven)  that  it  wouldn't  be  lucky  that  day. 

Well,  the  next  day  was  Friday,  and  Barny  of 
course  would  not  sail  any  more  than  any  other 
sailor  who  could  help  it  on  this  unpropitious  day. 
On  Saturday,  however,  he  came  running  in  a 
great  hurry  down  to  the  shore,  and,  jumped 
aboard,  he  gave  orders  to  make  all  sail,  and,  tak- 
ing the  helm  of  the  hooker,  he  turned  her  head 


Barny  O'Reirdon.  133 

to  the  sea,  and  soon  the  boat  was  cleaving-  the 
blue  waters  with  a  velocity  seldom  witnessed  in 
so  small  a  craft,  and  scarcely  conceivable  to  those 
who  have  not  seen  the  speed  of  a  Kinsale  hooker. 

"  Why,  thin,  you  tuk  the  notion  mighty  sud- 
dint,  Barny,"  said  the  fisherman  next  in  authority 
to  O'Reirdon,  as  soon  as  the  bustle  of  getting  the 
boat  under  way  had  subsided. 

"  Well,  I  hope  it's  plazin'  to  you  at  last,"  said 
Barny  ;  "  troth,  one  'ud  think  you  were  never  at 
say  before,  you  wor  in  such  a  hurry  to  be  off;  as 
new-fangled  a'most  as  the  child  with  a  play -toy." 

"  Well,"  said  the  other  of  Barny' s  companions, 
for  there  were  but  two  with  him  in  the  boat,  "  I 
was  thinkin'  myself,  as  well  as  Jemmy,  that  we 
lost  two  fine  days  for  nothin',  and  we'd  be  there 
a'most,  may  be,  now,  if  we  sailed  three  days  agon." 

"  Don't  b'lieve  it,"  said  Barny  emphatically. 
"  Now,  don't  you  know  yourself  that  there  is 
some  days  that  the  fish  won't  come  near  the  lines 
at  all,  and  that  we  might  as  well  be  castin'  our 
nets  on  the  dhry  land  as  in  the  say,  for  all  we'll 
catch  if  we  start  on  an  unlooky  day  ?  And  sure  I 
towld  )'Ou  I  was  waitin'  only  till  I  had  it  given  to 
me  to  undherstan'  that  it  was  looky  to  sail,  and  I 
go  bail  we'll  be  there  sooner  than  if  we  started 
three  days  agon,  for,  if  you  don't  start  with  good 
look  before  you,  faix  may  be  it's  never  at  all  to 
the  end  o'  your  trip  you'll  come." 

"  Well,  there's  no  use  in  talkin'  aboot  it  now, 
anyhow ;  but  when  do  vou  expec'  to  be  there  ?" 


134  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

u  Why,  you  see  we  must  wait  antil  I  can  tell 
how  the  wind  is  like  to  howld  on,  before  I  can 
make  up  my  mind  to  that." 

"  But  you're  sure  now,  Barny,  that  you're  up  to 
the  coorse  you  have  to  run  ?" 

"  See  now,  lave  me  alone  and  don't  be  cross 
crass-questionin'  me — tare-an-ouns,  do  you  think 
me  sitch  a  bladdherang  as  for  to  go  to  shuperin- 
scribe  a  thing  I  wasn't  aiquil  to  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  was  only  goin'  to  ax  you  what  coorse 
you  wor  goin'  to  steer." 

"  You'll  find  out  soon  enough  when  we  get 
there,  and  so  I  bid  you  agin'  lay  me  alone — just 
keep  your  toe  in  your  pump.  Shure  I'm  here  at 
the  helm,  and  a  weight  on  my  mind,  and  it's  fit- 
ther  for  you,  Jim,  to  mind  j^our  own  business,  and 
lay  me  to  mind  mine  ;  away  wid  you  there,  and 
be  handy  ;  haul  taut  that  foresheet  there,  we 
must  run  close  on  the  wind ;  be  handy,  boys, 
make  everything  dhraw." 

These  orders  were  obeyed,  and  the  hooker  soon 
passed  to  windward  of  a  ship  that  left  the  harbor 
before  her,  but  could  not  hold  on  a  wind  with  the 
same  tenacity  as  the  hooker,  whose  qualities  in 
this  particular  render  it  peculiarly  suitable  for  the 
purposes  to  which  it  is  applied,  namely,  pilot  and 
fishing  boats. 

We  have  said  a  ship  left  the  harbor  before  the 
hooker  had  set  sail,  and  it  is  now  fitting  to  inform 
the  reader  that  Barny  had  contrived,  in  the  course 
of  his  last  meeting  with  the  "  long  sailor,"  to  as- 


Barny  O 'Reirdon.  135 

certain  that  this  ship,  then  lying-  in  the  harbor, 
was  going  to  the  very  place  Barny  wanted  to 
reach.  Barny 's  plan  of  action  was  decided  upon 
in  a  moment;  he  had  now  nothing  to  do  but  to 
watch  the  sailing  of  the  ship,  and  follow  in  her 
course.  Here  was  at  once  a  new  mode  of  navi- 
gation discovered. 

The  stars,  twinkling  in  mysterious  brightness 
through  the  silent  gloom  of  night,  were  the  first 
encouraging,  because  visible,  guides  to  the  adven- 
turous mariners  of  antiquity.  Since  then,  the 
sailor,  encouraged  by  a  bolder  science,  relies  on 
the  unseen  agency  of  nature,  depending  on  the 
fidelity  of  an  atom  of  iron  to  the  mystic  law  that 
claims  its  homage  in  the  north.  This  is  one  re- 
finement of  science  upon  another.  But  the  beau- 
tiful simplicity  of  Barny  O'Reirdon's  philosophy 
cannot  be  too  much  admired,  to  follow  the  ship 
that  is  going  to  the  same  place.  Is  not  this  navi- 
gation made  easy  ? 

But  Barny,  like  many  a  great  man  before  him, 
seemed  not  to  be  aware  of  how  much  credit  he 
was  entitled  to  for  his  invention,  for  he  did  not 
divulge  to  his  companions  the  originality  of  his 
proceeding ;  he  wished  them  to  believe  he  w  as 
oiuy  proceeding  in  the  commonplace  manner,  and 
had  no  ambition  to  be  distinguished  as  the  happy 
projector  of  so  simple  a  practice. 

For  this  purpose,  he  went  to  windward  of  the 
ship,  and  then  fell  off  again,  allowing  her  to  pass 
him,  as  he  did  not  wish  even  those  on  board  the 


136  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

ship  to  suppose  he  was  following'  in  their  wake; 
for  Barny  like  all  people  that  are  full  of  one 
scheme,  and  fancy  everybody  is  watching  them, 
dreaded  lest  any  one  should  fathom  his  motives. 
All  that  day,  Barny  held  on  the  same  course  as  his 
leader,  keeping  at  a  respectful  distance,  however, 
"  for  fear  'twould  look  like  dodging  her,"  as  he 
said  to  himself;  but,  as  night  closed  in,  so  closed 
in  Barny  with  the  ship,  and  kept  a  sharp  lookout 
that  she  would  not  give  him  the  slip.  The  next 
morning  dawned,  and  found  the  hooker  and  ship 
companions  still ;  and  thus  matters  proceeded  for 
four  days,  during  the  entire  of  which  time  they 
had  not  seen  land  since  their  first  losing  sight  of 
it,  although  the  weather  was  clear. 

"  By  my  sowl,"  thought  Barny,  "  the  channel 
must  be  mighty  wide  in  these  parts,  and  for  the 
last  day  or  so  we've  been  goin'  purty  free  with  a 
flowing  sheet,  and  I  wondher  we  aren't  closin'  in 
wid  the  shore  by  this  time  ;  or  may  be  it's  farther 
off  than  I  thought  it  was."  His  companions,  too, 
began  to  question  Barny  on  the  subject,  but  to 
their  queries  he  presented  an  impenetrable  front 
of  composure,  and  said,  "  It  was  always  the  best 
plan  to  keep  a  good  bowld  offin'."  In  two  days 
more,  however,  the  weather  began  to  be  sensibly 
warmer,  and  Barny  and  his  companions  remarked 
that  it  was  "  goin*  to  be  the  finest  sayson — God 
bless  it ! — that  ever  kem  out  o'  the  skies  for  many  a 
long  year,  and  may  be  it's  the  whate  would  not  be 
beautiful,  and  a  great  dale  of  it."     It  was  at  the 


Barny  (J Rcirdon.  137 

end  of  a  week  that  the  ship  which  Barny  had 
hitherto  kept  ahead  of  him  showed  S}rmptoms  of 
bearing  down  upon  him,  as  he  thought ;  and,  sure 
enough,  she  did,  and  Barny  began  to  conjecture 
what  the  deuce  the  ship  could  want  with  him, 
and  commenced  inventing  answers  to  the  ques- 
tions he  thought  it  possible  might  be  put  to  him 
in  case  the  ship  spoke  him.  He  was  soon  put  out 
of  suspense  by  being  hailed  and  ordered  to  run 
under  her  lee,  and  the  captain,  looking  over  the 
quarter,  asked  Barny  where  he  was  going. 

"Faith,  then,  I'm  goin'  an  my  business,"  said 
Barny. 

"  But  where?"  said  the  captain. 

"  Why,  sure,  an  it's  no  matther  where  a  poor 
man  like  me  id  be  goin',"  said  Barny. 

"  Only  I'm  curious  to  know  what  the  deuce 
you've  been  following  my  ship  for  the  last  week  ?" 

"  Follyin'  your  ship!  Why,  thin,  blur-an-agers, 
do  you  think  it's  follyin'  yiz  I  am  ?" 

"  It's  very  like  it,"  said  the  captain. 

"  Why,  did  two  people  niver  thravel  the  same 
road  before  ?" 

"  I  don't  say  they  didn't ;  but  there's  a  great 
difference  between  a  ship  of  seven  hundred  tons 
and  a  hooker." 

"  Oh  !  as  for  that  matther,"  said  Barny,  "  the 
same  highroad  sarves  a  coach  and  four,  and  a 
lowback  car;  the  thravellin'  tinker  an'  horse- 
back." 

"  That's  very  true,"  said  the  captain,  "  but  the 


138  Half  Hoars  with  Irish  Authors. 

cases  are  not  the  same,  Paddy,  and  I  can't  con- 
ceive what  the  devil  brings  you  here." 

"  And  who  ax'd  you  to  consayve  anything  about 
it?"  asked  Barny  somewhat  sturdily. 

"  D — n  me  if  I  can  imagine  what  you're  about, 
my  fine  fellow,"  said  the  captain  ;  "  and  my  own 
notion  is  that  you  don't  know  where  the  d — 1 
you're  going  yourself." 

"  O  bait  her  shin  /"  said  Barny,  with  a  laugh  of 
derision. 

"  Why,  then,  do  you  object  to  tell?"  said  the 
captain. 

"  Arrah  sure,  captain,  an'  don't  you  know  that 
sometimes  vessels  is  bound  to  sail  under  saycret 
ordhcrs  ?"  said  Barny,  endeavoring  to  foil  the 
question  by  badinage. 

There  was  a  universal  laugh  from  the  deck  of 
the  ship,  at  the  idea  of  a  fishing-boat  sailing  under 
secret  orders ;  for,  by  this  time,  the  whole  broad- 
side of  the  vessel  was  crowded  with  grinning 
mouths  and  wondering  eyes  at  Barny  and  his  boat. 

"  Oh !  it's  a  thrifle  makes  fools  laugh,"  said 
Barny. 

"  Take  care,  my  fine  fellow,  that  you  don't  be 
laughing  at  the  wrong  side  of  your  mouth  before 
long,  for  I've  a  notion  that  you're  cursedly  in  the 
wrong  box,  as  cunning  a  fellow  as  you  think  your- 
self. D— n  your  stupid  head,  can't  you  tell  what 
brings  you  here  ?" 

"  Why,  thin,  by  gor,  one  id  think  the  whole  say 
belonged  to  you,  you're  so  mighty  bowld  in  axin 


Barny  O 'Rcirdoii.  139 

questions  an  it.  Why,  tare-an-ouns,  sure  I've  as 
much  right  to  be  here  as  you,  though  L  haven't 
as  big  a  ship  nor  as  fine  a  coat;  but  may  be  I  can 
take  as  good  a  sailin'  out  o'  the  one,  and  has  as 
bowld  a  heart  under  th'  other." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  captain,  "  I  see  there's  no 
use  in  talking  to  you,  so  go  to  the  d — 1  your  own 
way."  And  away  bore  the  ship,  leaving  Barny 
in  indignation  and  his  companions  in  wonder. 

"An'  why  wouldn't  you  tell  him  ?"  said  they  to 
Barny. 

"  Why,  don't  you  see,"  said  Barny,  whose 
object  was  now  to  blind  them — "  don't  you  see, 
how  do  I  know  but  may  be  he  might  be  goin'  to 
the  same  place  himself,  and  may  be  he  has  a  cargo 
of  scalpccns  as  well  as  uz,  and  wants  to  get  before 
us  there  ?" 

"  True  for  you,  Barny,"  said  they.  "  By  dad, 
you're  right."  And  their  enquiries  being  satisfied, 
the  day  passed,  as  former  ones  had  done,  in  pursu- 
ing the  course  of  the  ship. 

In  four  days  more,  however,  the  provisions  in 
the  hooker  began  to  fail,  and  they  were  obliged  to 
have  recourse  to  the  scalpcens  for  sustenance,  and 
Barny  then  got  seriously  uneasy  at  the  length  of 
the  voyage  and  the  likely  greater  length,  for  any 
thing  he  could  see  to  the  contrary ;  and,  urged  at 
last  by  his  own  alarms  and  those  of  his  compa- 
nions, he  was  enabled,  as  the  wind  was  light,  to 
gain  on  the  ship,  and,  when  he  found  himself  along- 
side, he  demanded  a  parley  with  the  captain. 


140  Half  Ho?trs  with  Irish  Authors. 

The  captain,  on  hearing  that  the  "  hardy  hooker," 
as  she  got  christened,  was  under  his  lee,  came  on 
deck,  and,  as  soon  as  he  appeared,  Barny  cried 
out — 

"Why,  thin,  blur-an-agers,  captain  dear,  do  you 
expec'  to  be  there  soon  ?" 

"  Where?"  said  the  captain. 

"  Oh  !  you  know  yourself,"  said  Barny. 

"  It's  well  for  me  I  do,"  said  the  captain. 

"  Thrue  for  you,  indeed,  your  honor,"  said 
Barny,  in  his  most  insinuating  tone;  "but  whin 
will  you  be  at  the  ind  o'  your  voyage,  captain 
jewel?" 

"  I  dare  say  in  about  three  months,"  said  the 
captain. 

"O  Holy  Mother!"  ejaculated  Barny;  "three 
months  ! — arrah,  it's  jokein'  you  are,  captain  dear, 
and  only  want  to  freken  me." 

"  How  should  I  frighten  you  ?"  asked  the 
captain. 

"  Why,  thin,  your  honor,  to  tell  God's  truth, 
I  heard  you  were  goin'  there,  an',  as  I  wanted  to 
go  there  too,  I  thought  I  couldn't  do  better  nor 
to  folly  a  knowledgable  gintleman  like  yourself, 
and  save  myself  the  throuble  iv  findin'  it  out." 

"And  where  do  you  think  I  am  going?"  said 
the  captain. 

"  Why,  thin,"  said  Barny,  "  isn't  it  to  Fingal?" 

"  No,"  said  the  captain  ;  "  it's  to  Bengal." 

"Oh!  Gog's  blakey!"  said  Barny,  "  what'll  I 
do  now  at  all  at  all?" 


Barny  O 'Reirdon.  141 


CHAPTER  II. 

HOMEWARD-BOUND. 

"  Tis  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  good." — Old  Saying. 

The  captain  ordered  Barny  on  deck,  as  he 
wished  to  have  some  conversation  with  him 
on  what  he  very  naturally  considered  a  most 
extraordinary  adventure.  Heaven  help  the  cap- 
tain !  he  knew  little  of  Irishmen,  or  he  would  not 
have  been  so  astonished.  Barny  made  his  appear- 
ance. Puzzling  question,  and  more  puzzling* 
answer,  followed  in  quick  succession  between  the 
commander  and  Barny,  who,  in  the  midst  of  his 
dilemma,  stamped  about,  thumped  his  head, 
squeezed  his  caubeen  into  all  manner  of  shapes, 
and  vented  his  despair  anathematically  : 

"Oh!  my  heavy  hathred  to  you,  you  tarnal 
thief  iv  a  long  sailor!  It's  a  purty  scrape  yiv  led 
me  into.  By  gor,  I  thought  it  was  Fingal  he  said, 
and  now  I  hear  it  is  Bingal.  Oh  !  the  divil  sweep 
you  for  navigation,  why  did  I  meddle  or  make 
wid  you  at  all  at  all  ?  And  my  curse  light  on  you, 
Terry  O'Sullivan,  why  did  I  iver  come  across 
you,  you  onlooky  vagabone,  to  put  sitch  thoughts 
in  my  head?  And  so  its  Bingal,  and  not  Fingal, 
you're  goin'  to,  captain  ?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  Paddy." 

"  An'  might  I  be  so  bowld  to  ax,  captain,  is 
Bingal  much  farther  nor  Fingal?" 


142  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors, 

"  A  trifle  or  so,  Paddy." 

"  Och,  thin,  millia  murther,  weirasthru,  how  'ill 
I  iver  get  there  at  all  at  all?"  roared  out  poor 
Barny. 

"  By  turning  about,  and  getting  back  the  road 
you've  come,  as  fast  as  you  can." 

"Is  it  back?  O  Queen  iv  Heaven!  an  how 
will  I  iver  get  back?"  said  the  bewildered  Barny. 

"  Then  you  don't  know  your  course,  it  ap- 
pears?" 

"  Oh  !  faix  I  know  it,  iligant,  as  long  as  your 
honor  was  before  me." 

"  But  you  don't  know  your  course  back?' 

"  Why,  indeed,  not  to  say  rightly  all  out,  )rour 
honor." 

"  Can't  you  steer  ?"  said  the  captain. 

"  The  devil  a  betther  hand  at  the  tiller  in  all 
Kinsale,"  said  Barny,  with  his  usual  brag. 

"  Well,  so  far  so  good,"  said  the  captain.  "  And 
you  know  the  points  of  the  compass — yoa  have  a 
compass,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  A  compass  !  by  my  sowl  an  it's  not  let  alone  a 
compass,  but  a  pair  a  compasses  I  have,  that  my 
brother  the  carpinthir  left  me  for  a  keepsake  whin 
he  wint  abroad  ;  but,  indeed,  as  for  the  points  o' 
thim,  I  can't  say  much,  for  the  childer  spylt  thim 
intirely,  rootin'  holes  in  the  flure." 

"What  the  plague  are  you  talking  about?" 
asked  the  captain. 

"Wasn't  your  honor  discoorsin'  me  about  the 
points  o'  the  compasses?" 


Barny  O'Reirdon.  143 

"  Confound  your  thick  head  !"  said  the  captain. 
"  Why,  what  an  ignoramus  you  must  be,  not  to 
know  what  a  compass  is,  and  you  at  sea  all  your 
life?     Do  you  even  know  the  cardinal  points?" 

"  The  cardinals !  faix,  an  it's  a  great  respect  I 
have  for  them,  your  honor.  Sure,  ar'n't  they  be- 
longin'  to  the  pope  ?  " 

"  Confound  you,  you  blockhead  !  "  roared  the 
captain,  in  a  rage  ;  "'twould  take  the  patience  of 
the  pope  and  the  cardinals,  and  the  cardinal  vir- 
tues into  the  bargain,  to  keep  one's  temper  with 
you.    Do  you  know  the  four  points  of  the  wind  ?" 

"  By  my  sowl,  I  do,  and  more." 

"  Well,  never  mind  more,  but  let  us  stick  to 
four.  You're  sure  you  know  the  four  points  of 
the  wind?" 

"  By  dad,  it  would  be  a  quare  thing  if  a  say- 
farin'  man  didn't  know  somethin'  about  the  wind, 
anyhow.  Why,  captain,  dear,  you  must  take  me 
for  a  nath'ral  intirely,  to  suspect  me  o'  the  like  o* 
not  knowin'  all  about  the  wind.  By  gor,  I  know 
as  much  o'  the  wind  a'most  as  a  pig." 

"  Indeed,  I  believe  so,"  laughed  out  the  cap- 
tain. 

"  Oh  !  you  may  laugh  if  you  plaze,  and  I  see  by 
the  same  that  you  don't  know  about  the  pig,  with 
all  your  edication,  captain." 

"  Well,  what  about  the  pig  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  did  you  never  hear  a  pig  can  see  the 
wind?" 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  did." 


144  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"  Oh  !  thin,  he  does,  and,  for  that  reason,  who 
has  a  right  to  know  more  about  it?" 

"  You  don't,  for  one,  I  dare  say,  Paddy ;  and 
may  be  you  have  a  pig  aboard  to  give  you  infor- 
mation." 

"  Sorra  taste,  yer  honor,  not  as  much  as  a  rasher 
o'  bacon  ;  but  it's  may  be  your  honor  never  seen  a 
pig  tossing  up  his  snout  consaited  like,  and  run- 
ning like  mad  afore  a  storm." 

"  Well,  what  if  I  have  ?  " 

"AVell,  sir,  that  is  when  they  see  the  wind 
a-comin." 

"  May  be  so,  Paddy,  but.  all  this  knowledge  in 
piggery  won't  find  you  your  way  home ;  and,  if 
you  take  my  advice,  you  will  give  up  all  thoughts 
of  endeavoring  to  find  your  way  back,  and  come 
on  board.  You  and  your  messmates,  I  dare  say, 
will  be  useful  hands,  with  some  teaching ;  but,  at 
all  events,  I  cannot  leave  you  here  on  the  open 
sea,  with  every  chance  of  being  lost." 

"  Why,  thin,  indeed,  and  I'm  behowldin'  to 
your  honor ;  and  it's  the  hoighth  o'  kindness,  so 
it  is,  you  offer ;  and  it's  nothin'  else  but  a  gintle- 
man  you  are,  every  inch  o'  you ;  but  I  hope  it's 
not  so  bad  wid  us  yet  as  to  do  the  likes  o'  that." 

"  I  think  it's  bad  enough,"  said  the  captain, 
"  when  you  are  without  a  compass,  and  knowing 
nothing  of  your  course,  and  nearly  a  hundred  and 
eighty  leagues  from  land." 

"An'  how  many  miles  would  that  be,  captain?" 

"  Three  times  as  many." 


Barny  O'Rcirdon.  145 

"  I  never  Iarned  the  rule  o'  three,  captain,  and 
may  be  your  honor  id  tell  me  yourself." 

"  That  is  rather  more  than  five  hundred  miles." 

"  Five  hundred  miles !  "  shouted  Barny.  "  Oh  ! 
the  Lord  look  down  upon  us  !  How  'ill  we  ever 
get  back  ?  " 

"That's  what  I  say,"  said  the  captain;  "and, 
therefore,  I  recommend  you  to  come  aboard  with 
me." 

"And  where  'ud  the  hooker  be  all  the  time?" 
said  Barny. 

"  Let  her  go  adrift,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Is  it  the  darlint  boat  ?  Oh !  by  dad,  I'll  never 
hear  o'  that,  at  all." 

"  Well,  then,  stay  in  her  and  be  lost.  Decide 
upon  the  matter  at  once — either  come  on  board  or 
cast  off." 

And  the  captain  was  turning  away  as  he  spoke, 
when  Barny  called  after  him  :  "  Arrah,  thin,  your 
honor,  don't  go  jist  for  one  minit  antil  I  ax  }tou 
one  word  more.  If  I  wint  wid  you,  whin  would  I 
be  home  again  ?  " 

"  In  about  seven  months." 

"  Oh  !  thin,  that  puts  the  wig  an  it  at  wanst.  I 
dar'n't  go  at  all." 

"  Why,  seven  months  are  not  long  passing." 

"  Thrue  for  you,  in  troth,"  said  Barny,  with  a 
shrug  of  his  shoulders.  "  Faix,  it's  myself  knows, 
to  my  sorrow,  the  half  year  comes  round  mighty 
suddint,  and  the  lord's  agint  comes  for  the  thrifle 
o'   rent;   and,   faix,' I   know  by  Molly  that   nine 


146  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

months  is  not.  long  in  comin'  over  either,"  added 
Barnv,  with  a  grin. 

"Then,  what's  your  objection  as  to  the  time?" 
asked  the  captain. 

"  Arrah,  sure,  sir,  what  would  the  woman  that 
owns  me  do  while  I  was  away  ?  And  may  be  it's 
break  her  heart  the  craythur  would,  thinking  I 
was  lost  intirely  !  And  who'd  be  at  home  to  take 
care  o'  the  childher'  and  aim  thim  the  bit  and  the 
sup,  whin  I'd  be  away?  And  who  knows  but  it's 
all  dead  they'd  be  afore  I  got  back  ?  Och  hone  ! 
sure  the  heart  id  fairly  break  in  my  body,  if  hurt 
or  harm  kem  to  them  through  me.  So  say  no 
more,  captain,  dear,  only  give  me  a  th rifle  o*  di- 
rections how  I'm  to  make  an  offer  at  gettin'  home, 
and  it's  myself  that  will  pray  for  you  night,  noon, 
and  mornin'  for  that  same." 

"  Well,  Paddy,"  said  the  captain,  "  as  you  are 
determined  to  go  back,  in  spite  of  all  I  can  say, 
you  must  attend  to  me  well  while  I  give  you  as 
simple  instructions  as  I  can.  You  say  you  know 
the  four  points  of  the  wind,  north,  south,  east,  and 
west?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

■"  How  do  you  know  them  ?  for  I  must  see  that 
you  are  not  likely  to  make  a  mistake.  How  do 
you  know  the  points  ?" 

"  Why,  you  see,  sir,  the  sun,  God  bless  it,  rises 
in  the  aist,  and  sets  in  the  west,  which  stands  to 
raison  ;  and,  whin  you  stand  bechuxt  the  aist  and 
the  west,  the  north  is  fornins.t  you." 


Barny  0%  Retrdon.  147 

"  And  when  the  north  is  forninst  you,  as  you 
sav,  is  the  east  on  your  right  or  your  left  hand  ? " 

"  On  the  right  hand,  your  honor." 

"  Well,  I  see  you  know  that  much,  however. 
Now,"  said  the  captain,  "  the  moment  you  leave 
^  the  ship  you  must  steer  a  north-east  course,  and 
you  will  make  some  land  near  home  in  about  a 
week,  if  the  wind  holds  as  it  is  now,  and  it  is  likely 
to  do  so  ;  but,  mind  me,  if  you  turn  out  of  the 
course  in  the  smallest  degree,  you  are  a  lost 
man." 

"  Many  thanks  to  your  honor." 

"  And  how  are  you  off  for  provisions  ?  " 

"  Why,  thin,  indeed,  in  the  regard  o'  that  same, 
we  are  in  the  hoighth  o'  distress  ;  for  exceptin' 
the  scalpecns,  sorra  taste  passed  our  lips  for  these 
four  days." 

"  Oh  !  you  poor  devils  !  "  said  the  commander, 
in  a  tone  of  sincere  commiseration.  "  I'll  order 
you  some  provisions  on  board  before  you  start." 

"  Long  life  to  your  honor  !  And  Td  like  to  drink 
the  health  of  so  noble  a  gintleman." 

"  I  understand  you,  Paddy,  you  shall  have  grog, 
too." 

"  Musha,  the  heavens  shower  blessins  an  you,  I 
pray  the  Virgin  Mary  and  the  twelve  apostles, 
Matthew,  Mark,  Luke,  and  John,  not  forgittin'  St. 
Pathrick !" 

"  Thank  you,  Paddy  ;  but  keep  your  prayers 
for  yourself,  for  you  need  them  all  to  help  you 
home  again." 


148  Half  Hours  ivitli  Irish  Authors. 

"  Oh !  never  fear ;  when  the  thing-  is  to  be  done, 
I'll  do  it,  by  dad,  wid  a  heart  and  a  half.  And 
sure,  your  honor,  God  is  good,  an'  will  mind  des- 
solute  craythurs  like  uz  on  the  wild  oceant  as  well 
as  ashore." 

While  some  of  the  ship's  crew  were  putting  the 
captain's  benevolent  intentions  to  Barny  and  his 
companions  into  practice,  by  transferring  some 
provisions  to  the  hooker,  the  commander  enter- 
tained himself  by  further  conversation  with 
Barny,  who  was  the  greatest  original  he  had  ever 
met.  In  the  course  of  their  colloquy,  Barny 
drove  many  hard  queries  at  the  captain  respect- 
ing the  wonders  of  the  nautical  profession,  and  at 
last  put  the  question  to  him  plump: 

"  Oh  !  thin,  captain  dear,  and  how  is  it  at  all  at 
all  that  you  make  your  way  over  the  wide  says 
intirely  to  them  furrin  parts?" 

"  You  would  not  understand,  Paddy,  if  I  at- 
tempted to  explain  to  you." 

"  Sure  enough,  indeed,  your  honor,  and  I  ask 
your  pardon,  only  I  was  curious  to  know,  and 
sure  no  wondher." 

"It  requires  various  branches  of  knowledge  to 
make  a  navigator." 

"  Branches  !"  said  Barny,  "  by  gar,  I  think  it  id 
take  the  whole  tree  0'  knowledge  to  make  it  out. 
And  that  place  you  are  going  to,  sir,  that  Bingdl 
(oh  !  bad  luck  to  it  for  a  Biuga),  it's  the  sore  Bin- 
gal  to  me),  is  it  so  far  off  as  you  say  ?  " 

"Yes,  Paddy,  half  round  the  world." 


Barny  O'Reirdon.  149 

"  Is  it  round  in  airnest,  captain  dear?      Round 

about  ?  " 

"  Aye,  indeed." 

"  Oli !  thin,  ar'n't  you  afeard  that  whin  you  come 
to  the  top  and  that  you're  obleedged  to  go  down, 
that  you'd  go  slidderhin  away  intirely,  and  never 
be  able  to  stop  may  be?  It's  bad  enough,  so  it  is, 
going  downhill  by  land,  but  it  must  be  the  dick- 
ens all  out  by  wather." 

"But  there  is  no  hill,  Paddy;  don't  you  know 
that  water  is  always  level?" 

"  By  dad,  it's  very  fiat,  anyhow,  and  by  the  same 
token  it's  seldom  I  throuble  it ;  but  sure,  your 
honor,  if  the  wather  is  level,  how  do  you  make 
out  that  it  is  round  you  go  ?" 

"  That  is  a  part  of  the  knowledge  I  was  speak- 
ing to  you  about,"  said  the  captain. 

"  Musha,  bad  luck  to  you,  knowledge,  but  you're 
a  quare  thing  !  And  where  is  it  Bingal,  bad  cess 
to  it,  would  be  at  all  at  all?" 

"  In  the  East  Indies." 

"  Oh  !  that  is  where  they  make  the  tay,  isn't  it, 
sir?" 

"  No  ;  where  the  tea  grows  is  further  still." 

"Further!  Why,  that  must  be  the  ind  of  the 
world  intirely;  and  they  don't  make  it  thin,  sir, 
but  it  grows,  you  tell  me." 

"  Yes,  Paddy." 

"  Is  it  like  hay,  your  honor?" 

"  Not  exactly,  Paddy ;  what  puts  hay  in  vour 
head?" 


150  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"  Oh !  only  bekase  I  hear  them  call  it  ~Bohay." 

"  A  most  logical  deduction,  Paddy." 

"And  is  it  a  great  deal  farther,  your  honor,  the 
tay  country  is  ?" 

"  Yes,  Paddy  ;  China  it  is  called." 

"That's,  I  suppose,  what  we  call  Chaynee, 
sir? 

"  Exactly,  Paddy." 

"  By  dad,  I  never  could  come  at  it  rightly 
before,  why  it  was  nath'ral  to  drink  tay  out  o' 
chaynee.  I  ax  your  honor's  pardon  for  bein' 
troublesome,  but  I  hard  tell  from  the  long  sailor 
iv  a  place  they  call  Japan,  in  them  furrin  parts; 
and  is  it  there,  your  honor?" 

"Quite  true,  Paddy." 

"  And  I  suppose  it's  there  the  blackin'  comes 
from  ?" 

"  No,  Padd}' ;  you  are  out  there." 

"  Oh  !  well,  I  thought  it  stood  to  rayson,  as  I 
heerd  of  Japan  blackin',  sir,  that  it  would  be  there 
it  kem  from  ;  besides,  as  the  blacks  themselves — 
the  naygers,  I  mane — is  in  them  parts." 

"  The  negroes  are  in  Africa,  Paddy,  much  near- 
er to  us." 

"  God  betune  us  and  harm  !  I  hope  I  would 
not  be  too  near  them,"  said  Barny. 

"  Why,  what's  your  objection  ?" 

"  Arrah,  sure,  sir,  they're  hardly  mortials  at  all, 
but  has  the  mark  o'  the  bastes  an  thim." 

"  How  do  you  make  out  that,  Paddy  ?" 

"  Why,  sure,  sir,  and  didn't  Nature  make  thim 


Barny  O'Reirdon.  151 

wid  wool  on  their  heads,  plainly  makin'  it  undher- 
stood  to  Chrishthans  that  they  were  little  more 
nor  cattle  ?" 

"  I  think  your  head  is  a  wool-gathering  now, 
Paddy,"  said  the  captain,  laughing. 

"  Faix,  raa)r  be  so,  indeed,"  answered  Barny 
good-humoredly  ;  "  but  it's  seldom  I  ever  went  out 
to  look  for  wool  and  kem  home  shorn,  anyhow," 
said  he,  with  a  look  of  triumph. 

"  Well,  you  won't  have  that  to  say  for  the  future, 
Paddy,"  said  the  captain,  laughing  again. 

"  My  name's  not  Paddy,  your  honor,"  said  Barny, 
returning  the  laugh,  but  seizing  the  opportunity  to 
turn  the  joke  aside  that  was  going  against  him — 
"  my  name  isn't  Paddy,  sir,  but  Barny." 

"  Oh  !  if  it  was  Solomon,  you'll  be  bare  enough 
when  you  go  home  this  time  ;  you  have  not  gath- 
ered much  this  trip,  Barny." 

"  Sure  I've  been  gathering  knowledge,  anyhow, 
your  honor,"  said  Barny,  with  a  significant  look 
at  the  captain,  and  a  complimentary  tip  of  his 
hand  to  his  caubeen ;  "  and  God  bless  you  for 
being  so  good  to  me." 

"  And  what's  your  name  besides  Barny?"  asked 
the  captain. 

"O'Reirdon,  your  honor — Barny  O'Reirdon's 
my  name." 

"  Well,  Barny  O'Reirdon,  I  won't  forget  your 
name  nor  yourself  in  a  hurry,  for  you  are  certainly 
the  most  original  navigator  I  ever  had  the  honor 
of  being  acquainted  with." 


152  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"  Well,"  said  Barny,  with  a  triumphant  toss  of 
his  head,  "  I  have  done  Terry  O'Sullivan,  at  any 
rate  ;  the  devil  a  half  so  far  he  ever  was,  and  that's 
a  comfort.  I  have  muzzled  his  clack  for  the  rest 
iv  his  life,  and  he  won't  be  comin'  over  us  wid  the 
pride  iv  his  Fingal,  while  I'm  to  the  fore,  that  was 
a' most  at  Biugal." 

"  Terry  O'Sullivan — who  is  he,  pray?"  said  the 
captain. 

"  Oh !  he's  a  scut  iv  a  chap  that's  not  worth 
your  axin  for — he's  not  worth  your  honor's  notice 
— a  braggin'  poor  crathur.  Oh!  wait  till  I  get 
home,  and  the  devil  a  more  braggin'  they'll  hear 
out  of  his  jaw." 

"  Indeed,  then,  Barny,  the  sooner  you  turn  your 
face  towards  home,  the  better,"  said  the  captain  ; 
"  since  you  will  go,  there  is  no  need  of  your  los- 
ing more  time." 

"  Thrue  for  you,  your  honor ;  and  sure  it's  well 
for  me  I  had  the  luck  to  meet  with  the  likes  o' 
your  honor,  that  explained  the  ins  and  the  outs 
iv  it  to  me,  and  laid  it  all  down  as  plain  as 
prent." 

"Are  you  sure  you  remember  my  directions?" 
said  the  captain. 

"  Troth  an'  I'll  niver  forget  them  to  the  day  o' 
my  death,  and  is  bound  to  pray,  more  betoken,  for 
you  and  yours." 

"  Don't  mind  praying  for  me  till  you  get  home, 
Barny;  but  answer  me — how  are  you  to  steer 
when  you  shall  leave  me?" 


Bdrny  (JReirdon.  153 

"The  nor'-aist  coorse,  your  honor,  that's  the 
coorse  agin  the  world." 

"Remember  that!  Never  alter  that  course  till 
you  see  land — let  nothing  make  you  turn  out  of  a 
north-east  course." 

"Throth  an'  that  would  be  the  dirty  turn,  see- 
in'  that  it  was  yourself  that  ordhered  it.  Oh  !  no, 
I'll  depend  my  life  an  the  nor'-aist  coorse,  and  God 
help  any  that  comes  betune  me  an' it ! — I'd  run 
him  down  if  he  was  my  father." 
"  Well,  good-by,  Barny." 

"Good-by,  and  God  bless  you,  your  honor, 
and  send  you  safe  !" 

"  That's  a  wish  you  want  for  yourself,  Barny 
— never  fear  for  me,  but  mind  yourself  well." 

"  Oh  !  sure  I'm  as  good  as  at  home  wanst  I  know 
the  way,  barrin'  the  wind  is  conthrary  ;  sure  the 
nor'-aist  coorse  '11  do  the  business  complate. 
Good-by,  your  honor,  and  long  life  to  you,  and 
more  power  to  your  elbow,  and  a  light  heart  and 
a  heavy  purse  to  you  ever  more,  I  pray  the  Bless- 
ed Virgin  and  all  the  saints,  amin  !"  And  so  say- 
ing, Barny  descended  the  ship's  side,  and  once 
more  assumed  the  helm  of  the  "hardy  hooker." 

The  two  vessels  now  separated  on  their  oppo- 
site courses.  What  a  contrast  their  relative  situa- 
tions afforded  !  Proudly  the  ship  bore  away  un- 
der her  lofty  and  spreading  canvas,  cleaving  the 
billows  before  her,  manned  by  an  able  crew,  and 
under  the  guidance  of  experienced  officers  ;  the 
finger  of  science  to  point  the  course  of  her  prog- 


154  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

ress,  the  faithful  chart  to  warn  of  the  hidden  rock 
and  the  shoal,  the  long  line  and  the  quadrant  to  mea- 
sure her  march  and  prove  her  position.  The  poor 
little  hooker  cleft  not  the  billows,  each  wave  lifted 
her  on  its  crest  like  a  sea-bird  ;  but  the  three  inex- 
perienced fishermen  to  manage  her ;  no  certain 
means  to  guide  them  over  the  vast  ocean  they 
had  to  traverse  ;  and  the  holding  of  the  "  fickle 
wind" — the  only  chance  o{  their  escape  from  perish- 
ing in  the  wilderness  of  waters.  By  the  one,  the 
feeling  excited  is  supremely  that  of  man's  power. 
By  the  other,  of  his  utter  helplessness.  To  the 
one,  the  expanse  of  ocean  could  scarcely  be  con- 
sidered "  trackless"  :  to  the  other,  it  was  a  waste  in- 
deed. Yet  the  cheer  that  burst  from  the  ship  at 
parting  was  answered  as  gaily  from  the  hooker  as 
though  the  odds  had  not  been  so  fearfully  against 
her,  and  no  blither  heart  beat  on  board  the  ship 
than  that  of  Barny  O'Reirdon. 

Happy  light-hearted ness  of  my  countrymen  ! 
How  kindly  have  they  been  fortified  by  nature 
against  the  assaults  of  adversity  ;  and,  if  they  blind- 
ly rush  into  dangers,  they  cannot  be  denied  the 
possession  of  gallant  hearts  to  fight  their  way  out 
of  them. 

But  each  hurrah  became  less  audible  ;  by  degrees 
the  cheers  dwindled  into  faintness,  and  finally  were 
lost  in  the  eddies  of  the  breeze. 

The  first  feeling  of  loneliness  that  poor  Barny 
experienced  was  when  he  could  no  longer  hear 
the  exhilarating  sound.     The  plash  of  the  surge 


Barny  O" ' Reirdon.  155 

as  it  broke  on  the  bows  of  his  little  boat  was 
uninterrupted  by  the  kindred  sound  of  human 
voice  ;  and,  as  it  fell  upon  his  ear,  it  smote  upon 
his  heart.  But  lie  replied,  waved  his  hat,  and  the 
silent  signal  was  answered  from  those  on  board 
the  ship. 

"  Well,  Barny,"  said  Jemmy,  "  what  was  the 
captain  sayin'  to  you  at  the  time  you  wor  wid 
him  ?  " 

"Lay  me  alone,"  said  Barny;  "I'll  talk  to  you 
when  I  see  her  out  o'  sight,  but  not  a  word  till 
thin.  I'll  look  afther  him,  the  rale  gintleman  that 
he  is,  while  there's  a  top-sail  of  his  ship  to  be  seen  ; 
and  then  I'll  send  my  blessin'  afther  him,  and 
pray  for  his  good  fortune  wherever  he  goes,  for 
he's  the  right  sort,  and  nothin'  else."  And  Barny 
kept  his  word,  and,  when  his  straining  eye  could 
no  longer  trace  a  line  of  the  ship,  the  captain  cer- 
tainly had  the  benefit  of  "  a  poor  man's  blessing." 

The  sense  of  utter  loneliness  and  desolation  had 
not  come  upon  Barny  until  now  ;  but  he  put  his 
trust  in  the  goodness  of  Providence,  and,  in  a  fer- 
vent mental  outpouring  of  prayer,  resigned  him- 
self to  the  care  of  his  Creator.  With  an  admir- 
able fortitude,  too,  he  assumed  a  composure  to 
his  companions  that  was  a  stranger  to  his  heart; 
and  we  all  know  how  the  burden  of  anxiety  is  in- 
creased when  we  have  none  with  whom  to  sym- 
pathize. And  this  was  not  all.  He  had  to  affect 
ease  and  confidence  ;  for  Barny  not  only  had  no 
dependence  on  the  firmness  of  his  companions  to 


156  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

go  through  the  undertaking  before  them,  but 
dreaded  to  betray  to  them  how  he  had  imposed 
on  them  in  the  affair.  Barny  was  equal  to  all 
this.  He  had  a  stout  heart,  and  was  an  admir- 
able actor  ;  yet,  for  the  first  hour  after  the  ship  was 
out  of  sight,  he  could  not  quite  recover  himself, 
and  every  now  and  then  unconsciously  he  would 
look  back  with  a  wishful  eye  to  the  point  where 
last  he  saw  her.     Poor  Barny  had  lost  his  leader  ! 

The  night  fell,  and  Barny  stuck  to  the  helm  as 
long  as  nature  could  sustain  want  of  rest,  and 
then  left  it  in  charge  of  one  of  his  companions, 
with  particular  directions  how  to  steer,  and 
ordered,  if  any  change  in  the  wind  occurred,  that 
they  should  instantly  awake  him.  He  could  not 
sleep  long,  however,  the  fever  of  anxiety  was 
upon  him,  and  the  morning  had  not  long  dawned 
when  he  awoke.  He  had  not  well  rubbed  his 
eyes  and  looked  about  him  when  he  thought  he 
saw  a  ship  in  the  distance  approaching  them.  As 
the  haze  cleared  away,  she  showed  distinctly 
bearing  down  towards  the  hooker.  On  board 
the  ship,  the  hooker,  in  such  a  sea,  caused  sur- 
prise as  before,  and  in  about  an  hour  she  was  so 
close  as  to  hail  and  order  the  hooker  to  run 
under  her  lee." 

"  The  devil  a  taste,"  said  Barny.  "  I'll  not 
quit  my  nor-aist  coorse  for  the  King  of  Ingland, 
nor  Bonyparty  into  the  bargain.  Bad  cess  to 
you,  do  you  think  I've  nothin'  to  do  but  plaze 
vou  ?  " 


Barny  O'Reirdon.  157 

Again  he  was  bailed. 

"  Oh  !  bad  luck  to  the  toe  I'll  go  to  you." 

Another  hail. 

"  Spake  loudher,  you'd  betther,"  said  Barny 
jeeringly,  still  holding  on  his  course. 

A  gun  was  fired  ahead  of  him. 

"  By  my  sowl,  you  spoke  loudher  that  time, 
sure  enough,"  said  Barny. 

"Take  care,  Barny !"  cried  Jemmy  and  Peter 
together.  "  Blur-an-agers,  man,  we'll  be  kilt,  if 
you  don't  go  to  them." 

"  Well,  and  we'll  be  lost  if  we  turn  out  iv  our 
nor-aist  coorse,  and  that's  as  broad  as  it's  long. 
Let  them  hit  iz  if  they  like  ;  sure  it  ud  be  a  plea- 
sant death  nor  starvin'  at  say.  I'll  tell  you  agin, 
I'll  turn  out  o'  my  nor-aist  coorse  for  no  man." 

A  shotted  gun  was  fired.  The  shot  hopped  on 
the  water,  as  it  passed  before  the  hooker. 

"Phew!  you  missed  it  like  your  mammy's 
blessin',"  said  Barny. 

"  Oh  !  murthur  !"  said  Jemmy.  "  Didn't  you  see 
the  ball  hop  aff  the  wather  forninst  you  ?  Oh ! 
murthur,  what  'ud  we  ha'  done  if  we  wor  there 
at  all  at  all?" 

"  Why,  we'd  have  taken  the  ball  at  the  hop,"  said 
Barny,  laughing,  "  accordin'  to  the  ould  sayin'." 

Another  shot  was  ineffectually  tired. 

"I'm  thinking  that's  a  Connaughtman *  that's 

*  This  is  an  allusion  of  Barny's  to  a  prevalent  saying  in  Ireland,  addressed 
to  a  sportsman  who  returns  home  unsuccessful :  "So  you've  killed  what  the 
Connaughtman  shot  at?"  Besides,  Barny  herein  indulges  a  provincial  pique 
for  the  people  of  Munster  have  a  profound  contempt  for  Connaughtmen. 


158  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

shootin',"  said  Barny,  with  a  sneer.  The  allu- 
sion was  so  relished  by  Jemmy  and  Peter  that  it 
excited  a  smile  in  the  midst  of  their  fears  from  the 
cannonade. 

Again  the  report  of  the  gun  was  followed  by 
no  damage. 

"Augh!  never  heed  them!"  said  Barny  con- 
temptuously. "  It's  a  barkin'  dog  that  never 
bites,  as  the  owld  sayin'  says."  And  the  hooker 
was  soon  out  of  reach  of  further  annoyance. 

"  Now,  what  a  pity  it  was,  to  be  sure,"  said 
Barny,  "  that  I  wouldn't  go  aboord  to  plaze  them  ! 
Now,  who's  right?  Ah!  lave  me  alone,  always, 
Jemmy  ;  did  you  iver  know  me  wrong  yet  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  you  may  hillow  now  that  you  are  out  o' 
the  wood,"  said  Jemmy;  "but,  accordin'  to  my 
idays,  it  was  runnin'  a  grate  risk  to  be  conthrary 
wid  them  at  all,  and  they  shootin'  balls  afther  us." 

"  Well,  what  matther,"  said  Barny,  "  since 
they  wor  only  blind  gunners,  aii  I  knew  it.  Be- 
sides, as  I  said  afore,  I  won't  turn  out  o'  my  nor  - 
aist  coorse  for  no  man." 

"  That's  a  new  turn  you  tuk  lately,"  said  Peter. 
"  What's  the  raison  you're  runnin'  a  nor'-aist 
coorse  now,  an  we  never  heard  iv  it  afore  at  all, 
till  afther  you  quitted  the  big  ship  ?  " 

"  Why,  thin,  are  you  sitch  an  ignoramus  all 
out,"  said  Barn)'-,  "as  not  for  to  know  that  in 
navigation  you  must  lie  in  a  great  many  different 
tacks  before  you  can  make  the  port  you  steer 
for?" 


Barny  Q'Reirdqn.  1 59 

"  Only  I  think,"  said  Jemmy,  "  that  it's  back 
intirely  we're  goin'  now,  and  I  can't  make  out  the 
rights  o'  that  at  all." 

"  Why,"  said  Barny,  who  saw  the  necessity  of 
mystifying  his  companions  a  little,  "  you  see,  the 
captain  towld  me  that  I  kum  around,  an'  rekim- 
minded  me  to  go  th'  other  way." 

"  Faix,  it's  the  first  time  I-  ever  heard  o'  goin' 
round  by  say,"  said  Jemmy. 

"  Arrah,  sure,  that's  part  o'  the  saycrets  o'  navi- 
gation and  the  various  branches  o'  knowledge 
that  is  requizit  for  a  navigator;  and  that's  what 
the  captain,  God  bless  him  !  and  mj-self  was  dis- 
coorsin  an  aboord  ;  and,  like  a  rale  gintleman  as 
he  is,  Barny,  says  he  ;  Sir,  says  I  ;  You've  come 
the  round,  saj'S  he.  I  know  that,  says  "I,  bekase  I 
like  to  keep  a  good  bowld  offin',  says  I,  in  contrai- 
ry  places.  Spoke  like  a  good  sayman,  says  he. 
That's  my  principles,  says  I.  They're  the  right 
sort,  says  he.  But  says  he  (no  offence),  I  think 
you  wor  wrong,  says  he,  to  pass  the  short  turn 
in  the  ladi-shoes,*  says  he.  I  know,  says  I,  you 
mane  beside  the  three-spike  headlan'.  That's 
the  spot,  says  he,  I  see  you  know  it.  As  well  as  I 
know  my  father,  says  I." 

"  Why,  Barn}-,"  said  Jemmy,  interrupting  him, 
"  we  seen  no  head-Ian'  at  all." 

"Whisht,  whisht  !"  said  Barny,  "bad  cess  to 
you,  don't  thwart  me!  We  passed  it  in  the  night, 
and  you  couldn't  see  it.     Well,  as  I  was  saying,  I 

*  Some  offer  Barny  is  making  at  latitudes. 


160  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

knew  it  as  well  as  I  know  my  father,  says  I,  but 
I  gev  the  preference  to  go  the  round,  says  I. 
You're  a  good  sayman  for  that  same,  says  he,  an' 
it  would  be  right  at  any  other  time  than  this 
present,  says  he,  but  it's  onpossible  now,  teeto- 
tally,  on  account  o'  the  war,  says  he.  Tare  alive, 
says  I,  what  war  ?  An*  didn't  you  hear  o'  the 
war?  says  he.  Divil  a  word,  says  I.  Why;  says 
he,  the  Naygurs  has  made  war  on  the  king  o' 
Chaynee,  says  he,  bekase  he  refused  them  any 
more  tay  ;  an'  with  that,  what  do  they  do,  says 
he,  but  they  put  a  lumbago  on  all  the  vessels  that 
sails  the  round,  an'  that's  the  rayson,  says  he,  I 
carry  guns,  as  you  may  see;  and  I  rekimmind 
you,  says  he,  to  go  back,  for  you're  not  able  for 
thim,  and  that's  jist  the  way  iv  it.  An'  now, 
wasn't  it  looky  that  1  kem  acrass  him  at  all? 
Or  may  be  we  might  be  cotch  by  the  Naygurs, 
and  ate  up  alive." 

"  Oh  !  thin,  indeed,  and  that's  thrue,"  said  Jem- 
my and  Peter,  "and  when  will  we  come  to  the 
short  turn  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  never  mind,"  said  Barny,  "  you'll  see  it 
when  you  get  there  ;  but  wait  till  I  tell  you  more 
about  the  captain  and  the  big  ship.  He  said,  you 
know,  that  he  carried  guns  afeard  o' the  Naygurs; 
and,  in  troth,  it's  the  hoight  o'  care  he  takes  o' 
them  same  guns;  and  small  blame  to  him,  sure, 
they  might  be  the  salvation  of  him.  'Pon  my 
conscience,  they're  taken  betther  care  of  than  any 
poor    man's   child.     I    heerd    him  cautionin'    the 


Barny  O'Rcirdou.  161 

sailors  about  them,  and  givin  them  ordhcrs  about 
their  clothes." 

"  Their  clothes  !"  said  his  two  companions  at 
once  in  much  surprise;  "is  it  clothes  upon  can- 
nons ?" 

"  It's  thruth  I'm  tellin'  you,"  said  Barn)7.  "  Bad 
luck  to  the  lie  in  it,  he  was  talkin'  about  their 
aprons  and  their  breeches." 

"  Oh !  think  o'  that !"  said  Jemmy  and  Peter, 
in  surprise. 

"  An'  'twas  all  iv  a  piece,"  said  Barny,  "  that 
an'  the  rest  o'  the  ship  all  out.  She  was  as  nate 
as  a  new  pin.  Throth  I  was  a'most  ashamed  to 
put  my  fut  on  the  deck,  it  was  so  clane,  and  she 
painted  every  color  in  the  rainbow  ;  and  all  sorts 
o'  curiosities  about  her;  and,  instead  iv  a  tiller  to 
steer  her,  like  this  darlin'  craythur  iv  ours,  she 
goes  wid  a  wheel,  like  a  coach  all  as  one ;  and 
there's  the  quarest  thing  you  iver  seen,  to  show 
the  way,  as  the  captain  gev  me  to  understan', — a 
little  round  rowly-powly  thing  in  a  bowl,  that 
goes  waddlin'  about  as  if  it  didn't  know  it's  own 
way,  much  more  .nor  show  anybody  theirs. 
Throth  myself'  thought  that  if  that's  the  way 
they're  obliged  to  go,  that  it's  with  a  great  deal 
oi  fear  and  tJirimbliii  they  find  it  out." 

Thus  it  was  that  Barny  continued  most  marvel- 
lous accounts  of  the  ship  and  captain  to  his  com- 
panions, and,  by  keeping  their  attention  so  engag- 
ed, prevented  their  being  too  inquisitive  as  to 
their  own  immediate  concerns  ;  and  for  two  days 


1 62  Half  Hours  ivith  Irish  Authors. 

more   Barny  and  the  hooker  held  on  their  respec- 
tive courses  undeviatingly. 

The  third  day  Barny's  fears  for  the  continuity 
of  his  nor-aist  coorse  were  excited,  as  a  large  brig 
hove  in  sight,  and  the  nearer  she  approached,  the 
more  directly  the  appealed  to  be  coming  athwart 
Barny's  course. 

'•  May  the  divil  sweep  you  !"  said  Barny.  "  And 
will  nothin'  else  sarve  5'ou  than  comin'  forninst 
me  that  away?  Brig  ahoy,  there!"  shouted 
Barny,  giving  the  tiller  to  one  of  his  messmates, 
and  standing  at  the  bow  of  his  boat.  "  Brig  ahoy, 
there  ! — bad  luck  to  you,  go  'long  out  o'  my  nor- 
aist  coorse  /"  The  brig,  instead  of  obeying  him, 
hove  to,  and  lay  right  ahead  of  the  hooker.  "  Oh  ! 
look  at  this  !"  shouted  Barny,  and  he  stamped  on 
the  deck  with  rage — "look  at  the  blackguards 
where  they're  stayin',  just  a-purpose  to  ruin  an 
unfortunate  man  like  me.  My  heavy  hathred  to 
you !  Quit  this  minit,  or  I'll  run  down  an  yez,  and, 
if  we  go  to  the  bottom,  we'll  haunt  you  for  ever- 
more— go  'long  out  o'  that,  I  tell  you !  The  curse 
o'  Crummil  on  you,  you  stupid  vagabones,  that 
won't  go  out  iv  a  man's  nor'-aist  coorse  !" 

From  cursing,  Barny  went  to  praying  as  he 
came  closer.  "For  the  tendher  marcy  o'  heaven, 
an'  lave  my  way.  May  the  Lord  reward  you, 
and  get  out  o'  my  nor'-aist  coorse  !  May  angels 
make  your  bed  in  heavin  and  don't  ruinate  me 
this  a  way."  The  brig  was  immovable,  and 
Barny  finished  with   a  duet  volley  of  prayers  and 


Barny  (J  Rcirdon.  163 

curses  together,  apostrophizing-  the  hard  case  of 
a  man  being  "  done  out  o  his  nor-aist  eoorse." 

"  Ahoy  there!"  shouted  a  voice  from  the  brig. 
"  Put  down  your  helm,  or  you'll  be  aboard  of  us. 
I  say,  let  go  your  jib  and  foresheet — what  are  you 
about,  you  lubbers  ?" 

'Twas  true  that  the  brig  lay  so  fair  in  Barny's 
course  that  he  would  have  been  aboard,  but  that, 
instantly  the  manoeuvre  above  alluded  to  was  put 
in  practice  on  board  the  hooker  as  she  swept  to 
destruction  towards  the  heavy  hull  of  the  brig,  he 
luffed  up  into  the  wind  alongside  her.  A  very 
pale  and  somewhat  emaciated  face  appeared  at 
the  side,  and  addressed  Barny — 

"  What  brings  you  here  ?"  was  the  question. 

"  Throth,  thin,  and  I  think  I  might  betther  ax 
what  brings  you  here,  right  in  the  way  o*  my  nor- 
aist  eoorse." 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?" 

"  From  Kinsale  ;  and  you  didn't  come  from  a 
betther  place,  I  go  bail." 

"  Where  are  you  bound  to  ?" 

"  To  Fingal." 

"  Fingal — where's  Fingal?" 

"  Why,  then,  ain't  you  ashamed  yourself  an'  not 
to  know  where  Fingal  is  ?" 

"  It  is  not  in  these  seas." 

"Oh!  and  that's  all  you  know  about  it,"  says 
Barny. 

"  You're  a  small  craft  to  be  so  far  at  sea.  I 
suppose  you  have  provisions  on  board?" 


164  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"To  be  sure  we  have;  throth  if  we  hadn't,  this 
id  be  a  bad  place  to  go  a  beggin'."  # 

"  What  have  you  eatable  ?" 

"  The  finest  o'  scalpeens." 

"  What  are  scalpeens?" 

"  Why,  you're  mighty  ignorant  intirely,"  said 
Barny  ;  "  why,  scalpeens  is  pickled  mackerel." 

"  Then  you  must  give  us  some,  for  we  have 
been  out  of  everything  eatable  these  three  days  ; 
and  even  pickled  fish  is  better  than  nothing." 

It  chanced  that  the  brig  was  a  West  India  trader, 
which  unfavorable  winds  had  delayed  much  be- 
yond the  expected  period  of  time  on  her  voyage, 
and,  though  her  water  had  not  failed,  everything 
eatable  had  been  consumed,  and  the  crew  reduc- 
ed almost  to  helplessness.  In  such  a  strait,  the 
arrival  of  Barny  O'Reirdon  and  his  scalpeens  was 
a  most  providential  succor  to  them,  and  a  lucky 
chance  for  Barny,  for  he  got  in  exchange  for  his 
pickled  fish  a  handsome  return  of  rum  and  sugar, 
much  more  than  equivalent  to  their  value.  Barny 
lamented  much,  however,  that  the  brig  was  not 
bound  for  Ireland,  that  he  might  practise  his  own 
peculiar  system  of  navigation  ;  but,  as  staying  with 
the  brig  could  do  no  good,  he  got  himself  put 
into  his  nor-aist  coorsc  once  more,  and  ploughed 
away  towards  home. 

The  disposal  of  his  cargo  was  a  great  godsend 
to  Barny  in  more  ways  than  one.  In  the  first 
place,  he  found  the  most  profitable  market  he 
could  have  had ;  and,   secondly,   it  enabled   him 


Barny  O 'Rcirdon.  165 

#to  cover  his  retreat  from  the  difficulty  which  still 
was  before  him  of  not  getting  to  Fingal  after  all 
his  dangers,  and  consequently  being  open  to  dis- 
covery and  disgrace.  All  these  beneficial  results 
were  thrown  away  upon  one  of  Barny's  readiness 
to  avail  himself  of  every  point  in  his  favor  ;  and, 
accordingly,  when  they  left  the  brig,  Barny  said 
to  his  companions,  "  Why,  thin,  boys,  'pon  my 
conscience,  but  I'm  as  proud  as  a  horse  wid  a 
wooden  leg  this  minit,  that  we  met  them  poor 
unfortinate  craythers  this  blessed  day,  and  was 
enabled  to  extind  our  charity  to  them.  Sure  an'  it's 
lost  they'd  be,  only  for  our  comin'  acrass  them, 
and  we,  through  the  blessin'  o'  God,  enabled  to 
do  an  act  o'  marcy,  that  is,  feedin'  the  hungry  ; 
and  sure  every  good  work  we  do  here  is  before 
uz  in  heaven — and  that's  a  comfort  anyhow.  To 
be  sure,  now  that  the  scalpeens  is  sowld,  there's 
no  use  in  goin'  to  Fingal,  and  we  may  as  well  jist 
go  home." 

"  Faix,  I'm  sorry  myself,"  said  Jemmy,  "for 
Terry  O'Sullivan  said  it  was  an  iligant  place  in- 
tirely,  an'  I  wanted  to  see  it." 

"  To  the  divil  wid  Terry  O'Sullivan !"  said 
Barny  ;  "  How  does  he  know  what's  an  iligant 
place?  What  knowledge  has  he  of  iligance  !  I'll 
go  bail  he  never  was  half  as  far  a  navigatin'  as  we 
— he  wint  the  short  cut,  I  go  bail,  and  never  dar'd 
for  to  vinture  the  round,  as  I  did." 

"  By  dad,  we  wor  a  great  dale  longer  anyhow 
than  he  towld  me  he  was." 


1 66  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"To  be  sure  we  wor,"  said  Barny ;  "  he  wiiit 
skulkin'  in  by  the  short  cut,  I  tell  you,  and  was 
afeard  to  keep  a  bowld  offin'  like  me.  But  come, 
boys,  let  uz  take  a  dhrop  o'  the  bottle  o'  sper'ts 
we  got  out  o'  the  brig-.  By  gor,  it's  well  we  got 
some  bottles  iv  it;  for  I  wouldn't  much  like  to 
meddle  wid  that  darlint  little  kag  iv  it  antil  we 
get  home."  The  rum  was  put  on  its  trial  by 
Barny  and  his  companions,  and  in  their  critical 
judgment  was  pronounced  quite  as  good  as  the 
captain  of  the  ship  had  bestowed  upon  them,  but 
that  neither  of  those  specimens  of  spirit  was  to  be 
compared  to  whiskey.  "  By  dad,"  says  Barny, 
"  they  may  rack  their  brains  a  long  time  before 
they'll  make  out  a  purtier  invintion  than  potteen  ; 
that  rum  may  do  very  well  for  thira  that  has  the 
misforthin  not  to  know  betther ;  but  the  whiskey 
is  a  more  nath'ral  sper't,  accordin'  to  my  idays." 
In  this,  as  in  most  other  of  Barny's  opinions, 
Peter  and  Jemmy  coincided. 

Nothing  particular  occurred  for  the  two  suc- 
ceeding days,  during  which  time  Barny  most 
religiously  pursued  his  nor-aist  coorse,  but  the  third 
day  produced  a  new  and  important  event.  A 
sail  was  discovered  on  the  horizon,  and  in  the 
direction  Barny  was  steering,  and  a  couple  of 
hours  made  him  tolerably  certain  that  the  vessel 
in  sight  was  an  American  ;  for  though  it  is  need- 
less to  say  that  he  was  not  very  conversant  in 
such  matters,  yet,  from  the  frequency  of  his  see- 
ing Americans  trading  to    Ireland,  his  eye   had 


Barny  0' Reirdon.  167 

become  sufficiently  accustomed  to  their  lofty  and 
tapering  spars  and  peculiar  smartness  of  rig  to 
satisfy  him  that  the  ship  before  him  was  of  transat- 
lantic build;  nor  was  he  wrong  in  his  conjecture. 

Barny  now  determined  on  a  manoeuvre  classing 
him  among  the  first  tacticians  at  securing  a  good 
retreat. 

Moreau's  highest  fame  rests  upon  his  celebrated 
retrograde  movement  through  the  Black  Forest. 

Xenophon's  greatest  glory  is  derived  from  the 
deliverance  of  his  ten  thousand  Greeks  from 
impending  ruin,  by  his  renowned  retreat. 

Let  the  ancient  and  the  modern  hero  "  repose 
under  the  shadow  of  their  laurels,"  as  the  French 
have  it,  while  Barny  O'Reirdon's  historian,  with 
a  pardonable  jealousy  for  the  honor  of  his  country, 
cuts  down  a  goodly  bough  of  the  classic  tree,  be- 
neath which  our  Hibernian  hero  may  enjoy  his 
"  otiuiu  cum  dignitatem 

Barny  calculated  the  American  was  bound  foi 
Ireland,  and,  as  she  lay  almost  as  directly  in  the 
way  of  his  "  nor' -aist  coarse"  as  the  West  Indian 
brig,  he  bore  up  to  and  spoke  her. 

He  was  answered  by  a  shrewd  Yankee  cap- 
tain. 

"  Faix,  an'  it's  glad  I  am  to  see  your  honor 
again,"  said  Barny. 

The  Yankee  had  never  been  to  Ireland,  and  told 
Barny  so. 

"  Oh  !  throth  I  couldn't  forget  a  gentleman  so 
aisy  as  that,"  said  Barny. 


1 68  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Atitlwrs. 

"  You're  pretty  considerable  mistaken  now,  I 
guess,"  said  the  American. 

"  Divil  a  taste,"  said  Barny,  with  inimitable  com- 
posure and  pertinacity. 

"  Well,  if  you  know  me  so  tarnation  well,  tell 
me  what's  my  name?"  The  Yankee  flattered  him- 
self he  had  nailed  Barny  now. 

"Your  name,  is  it?"  said  Barny,  gaining  time 
by  repeating  the  question.  "  Why,  what  a  fool  you 
are  not  to  know  your  own  name." 

The  oddity  of  the  answer  posed  the  American, 
and  Barny  took  advantage  of  the  diversion  in  his 
favor,  and  changed  the  conversation. 

"  By  dad,  I've  been  waitin'  here  these  four  or 
five  days,  expectin'  some  of  you  would  be  wantin' 
me." 

"  Some  of  us! — how  do  you  mean?" 

"  Sure  an'  ar'n't  you  from  Amerikay  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  what  then?" 

"  Well,  I  say  I  was  waitin'  for  some  ship  or 
other  from  Amerikay  that  'ud  be  wantin'  me.  It's 
to  Ireland  you're  goin  ?  ' 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you'll  be  wanting  a  pilot," 
said  Barny. 

"  Yes,  when  we  get  in  shore,  but  not  yet." 

"  Oh!   I  don't  want  to  hurry  you,"  said  Barny. 

"  What  port  are  you  a  pilot  of'?" 

"  Why,  indeed,  as  for  the  matther  o'  that,"  said 
Barny,  "  they're  all  aiquel  to  me,  a'most." 

"  All!"  said  the  American.     "  Why,  I  calculate 


Barny  O'  Reirdon,  169 

you  couldn't  pilot  a  ship   into  all  the  ports  of 
Ireland." 

"  Not  all  at  wanst  (once),"  said  Barny,  with  a 
laugh,  in  which  the  American  could  not  help 
joining. 

"  Well,  I  say,  what  ports  do  you  know  best?" 

"  Why,  thin,  indeed,"  said  Barny,  "  it  would  be 
hard  for  me  to  tell ;  but,  wherever  you  want  to  go, 
I'm  the  man  that'll  do  the  job  for  you  complate. 
Where  is  your  honor  going  ?" 

"  I  won't  tell  you  that — but  do  you  tell  me  the 
ports  you  know  best." 

"  Why,  there's  Watherford,  and  there's  You- 
ghal,  an'  Fingal." 

"  Fingal — where's  that?" 

"  So  you  don't  know  where  Fingal  is  ?  Oh !  I 
see  your  a  sthranger,  sir — an'  then  there's  Cork." 

"  You  know  Cove,  then  ?" 

"  Is  it  the  Cove  o'  Cork?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  was  bred  and  born  there,  and  pilots  as 
many  ships  into  Cove  as  any  other  two  min  out 
of  it." 

Barny  thus  sheltered  his  falsehood  under  the 
idiom  of  his  language. 

"But  what  brought  you  so  far  out  to  sea?" 
asked  the  captain. 

"  We  wor  lyin'  out  lookin'  for  ships  that  want- 
ed pilots,  and  there  kem  an  the  terriblest  gale  o' 
wind  aff  the  land,  an'  blew  us  to  say  out  intirely, 
an'  that's  the  way  iv  it,  your  honor." 


170  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"  I  calculate  we  got  a  share  of  the  same  gale  ; 
'twas  from  the  nor'-east." 

"  Oh  !  directly  !"  said  Barny.  "  Faith  you're  right 
enough  ;  'twas  the  nor-aist  coorse  we  were  an,  sure 
enough ;  but  no  matther  now  that  we've  met  wid 
you — sure  we'll  have  a  job  home,  anyhow." 

"  Well,  get  aboard  then,"  said  the  American. 

"  I  will  in  a  minit,  your  honor,  whin  I  jist  spake 
a  word  to  my  comrades  here." 

"  Why,  sure  it's  not  goin'  to  turn  pilot  }7ou  are  ?" 
said  Jemmy,  in  his  simplicity  of  heart. 

"Whist,  you  omadhaun  !"  said  Barny,  "  or  I'll 
cut  the  tongue  out  o'  you.  Now  mind  me,  Pether. 
You  don't  undherstan'  navigashin  and  the  varrious 
branches  o'  knowledge,  an'  so  all  you  have  to  do 
is  to  folly  the  ship  when  I  get  into  her,  an'  I'll 
show  you  the  way  home." 

Barny  then  got  aboard  the  American  vessel, 
and  begged  of  the  captain  that,  as  he  had  been 
out  to  sea  so  long,  and  had  gone  through  "  a 
power  o'  hardship  intirely,"  that  he  would  be 
permitted  to  go  below  and  turn  in  to  take  a 
sleep;  "for,  in  throth,  it's  myself  and  sleep  that 
is  sthrayngers  for  some  time,"  said  Barny,  "  an', 
if  your  honor  '11  be  plazed,  I'll  be  thankful  if  you 
won't  let  them  disturb  me  until  I'm  wanted,  for 
sure  till  you  see  the  land  there's  no  use  for  me  in 
life,  an'  throth  I  want  a  sleep  sorely." 

Barny 's  request  was  granted,  and  it  will  not  be 
-wondered  at  that,  after  so  much  fatigue  of  mind 
and  body,  he  slept  profoundly  for  four-and-twenty 


Barny  O'Rcirdon.  171 

hours.  He  then  was  called,  for  land  was  in  sight, 
and  when  he  came  on  deck  the  captain  rallied 
him  upon  the  potency  of  his  somniferous  qualities, 
and  "  calculated  "  he  had  never  met  any  one  who 
could  sleep  "  four-and-twenty  hours  at  a  stretch 
before." 

"  Oh  !  sir,"  said  Barny,  rubbing  his  eyes,  which 
were  still  a  little  hazy,  "  whiniver  I  go  to  sleep,  / 
pay  attintion  to  it." 

The  land  Avas  soon  neared,  and  Barny  put  in 
charge  of  the  ship  when  he  ascertained  the  first 
landmark  he  was  acquainted  with  ;  but,  as  soon  as 
the  Head  of  Kinsale  hove  in  sight,  Barny  gave  a 
"  whoo!"  and  cut  a  caper  that  astonished  the  Yan- 
kees, and  was  quite  inexplicable  to  them,  though 
I  flatter  myself  it  is  not  to  those  who  do  Barny 
the  favor  of  reading  his  adventures. 

"  Oh  !  there  you  are,  my  darlint  ould  head  !  An' 
where's  the  head  like  o'  you  ?  Throth  it's  little 
I'd  thought  I'd  ever  set  eyes  an  your  good-look- 
ing faytures  agin.     But  God's  good  !" 

In  such  half-muttered  exclamations  did  Barny 
apostrophize  each  well-known  point  of  his  native 
shore,  and,  when  opposite  the  harbor  of  Kinsale, 
he  spoke  the  hooker  that  was  somewhat  astern, 
and  ordered  Jemmy  and  Peter  to  put  in  there  and 
tell  Molly  immediately  that  he  was  come  back,  and 
would  be  with  her  as  soon  as  he  could,  after  pilot- 
ing the  ship  into  the  Cove.  "  But,  on  your  apperl, 
don't  tell  Pether  Kelly  o'  the  big  farm,  nor  indeed 
don't  mintion  to  man  or  mortial,  about  the  naviga- 


172  Half  Hoars  zvitJi  Irish  AutJiors. 

tion  we  done  antil  I  come  home  myself  and  make 
them  sensible  o'  it,  bekase,  Jemmy  and  Pether, 
neither  o'  yiz  is  equal  to  it,  and  doesn't  undher- 
stan'  the  branches  o'  knowledge  requizit  for  dis- 
coorsin'  o'  navigation." 

The  hooker  put  into  Kinsale,  and  Barny  sailed 
the  ship  into  Cove.  It  was  the  first  ship  he  ever 
had  acted  the  pilot  for,  and  his  old  luck  attended 
him  ;  no  accident  befell  his  charge,  and,  what  was 
still  more  extraordinary,  he  made  the  American 
believe  he  was  absolutely  the  most  skilful  pilot  on 
the  station.  So  Barny  pocketed  his  pilot's  fee, 
swore  the  Yankee  was  a  gentleman,  for  which  the 
republican  did  not  thank  him,  wished  him  good- 
by,  and  then  pushed  his  way  home  with  what 
Barny  swore  was  the  aisiest  made  money  he  ever 
had  in  his  life.  So  Barny  got  himself  paid  for 
piloting  the  ship  that  showed  him  the  way  home. 

On  reaching  home,  all  were  ready  to  throw  their 
caps  at  his  feet.  None  but  an  Irishman,  I  fear- 
lessly assert,  could  have  executed  so  splendid  a 
coup  de  finesse. 

As  some  curious  persons  (I  dont  mean  the  ladies) 
may  wish  to  know  what  became  of  some  of  the 
characters  who  have  figured  in  this  tale,  I  beg  to 
inform  them  that  Molly  continued  a  faithful  wife 
and  time-keeper,  as  already  alluded  to,  for  many 
years  ;  that  Peter  Kelly  was  so  pleased  with  his 
share  in  the  profits  arising  from  the  trip,  in  the 
ample  return  of  rum  and  sugar,  that  he  freighted 
a  large  brig  with  scalpcens  to  the  West   Indies, 


Barny  C  Reirdon.  173 

and  went  supercargo  himself.  All  he  got  in  return 
was  yellow  fever. 

Barny  profited  better  by  his  share ;  he  was 
enabled  to  open  a  public-house  which  had  more 
custom  than  any  ten  within  miles  of  it.  Molly 
managed  the  bar  very  efficiently,  and  Barny 
"  discoorsed"  the  customers  most  seductively;  in 
short,  Barny,  at  all  times  given  to  the  marvellous, 
became  a  greater  romancer  than  ever,  and  for 
years  attracted  even  the  gentlemen  of  the  neigh- 
borhood who  loved  fun  to  his  house,  for  the  sake 
of  his  magnanimous  mendacity. 

As  for  the  hitherto  triumphant  Terry  O 'Sul- 
livan, from  the  moment  Barny's  Bingal  adventure 
became  known,  he  was  obliged  to  fly  the  country, 
and  was  never  heard  of  more,  while  the  hero  of 
the  hooker  became  a  greater  man  than  before, 
and  never  was  addressed  by  any  other  title  after- 
wards than  that  of  The  Commodore. 


THE  PRIEST'S  STORY. 


I  HAVE  already  made  known  unto  )tou  that 
a  younger  brother  and  myself  were  left  to 
the  care  of  my  mother.  Best  and  dearest  of  moth- 
ers, said  the  holy  man — sighing-  deeply,  and 
clasping  his  hands  fervently,  while  his  hands  were 
lifted  to  heaven,  as  if  love  made  him  conscious 
that  the  spirit  of  her  he  lamented  had  found  its 
eternal  rest  there — thy  gentle  and  affectionate 
nature  sank  under  the  bitter  trial  that  an  all-wise 
Providence  was  pleased  to  visit  thee  with  !  Well, 
sir,  Frank  was  my  mother's  darling ;  not  that 
3'ou  are  to  understand,  by  so  saying,  that  she  was 
of  that  weak  and  capi'icious  tone  of  mind  which 
lavished  its  care  upon  one  at  the  expense  of 
others — far  from  it ;  never  was  a  deep  store  of 
maternal  love  more  equally  shared  than  among 
the  four  brothers  ;  but  when  the  two  seniors  went 
away,  and  I  was  some  time  after  sent,  for  my 
studies,  to  St.  Omer,  Frank  became  the  object 
upon  which  all  the  tenderness  of  her  affectionate 
heart  might  exercise  the  little  maternal  cares  that 
hitherto  had  been  divided  amongst  many.  In- 
deed, my  dear  Frank  deserved  it  all;  his  was  the 
gentlest  of  natures,  combined  with  a  mind  of  sin- 


The  Pries  fs  Story.  175 

gular  strength  and  brilliant  imagination.  In 
short,  as  the  phrase  has  it,  he  was  "the  flower  of 
the  flock,"  and  great  things  were  expected  from 
him. 

It  was  some  time  after  my  return  from  St. 
Omer,  while  preparations  were  making  for  advanc- 
ing Frank  in  the  pursuit  which  had  been  selected 
as  the  business  of  his  life,  that  every  hour  which 
drew  nearer  to  the  moment  of  his  departure  made 
him  dearer  not  only  to  us,  but  to  all  who  knew 
him,  and  each  friend  claimed  a  day  that  Frank 
should  spend  with  him,  which  always  passed  in 
recalling  the  happy  hours  the)'-  had  already  spent 
together,  in  assurances  given  and  received,  of 
kindly  remembrances  that  still  should  be  che- 
rished, and  in  mutual  wishes  for  success,  with 
many  a  hearty  prophecy  from  my  poor  Frank's 
friends  that  he  would  one  day  be  a  great  man. 

One  night,  as  my  mother  and  myself  were  sit- 
ting at  home  beside  the  fire,  expecting  Frank's 
return  from  one  of  these  parties,  my  mother  said, 
in  an  unusually  anxious  tone : 

"  I  wish  Frank  was  come  home." 

"  What  makes  you  think  of  his  return  so  soon  ?" 
said  I. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  she,  "but  somehow  I'm 
uneasy  about  him." 

"Oh!  make  yourself  quiet,"  said  I,  "on  that 
subject ;  we  cannot  possibly  expect  Frank  for  an 
hour  to  come  yet." 

Still  my  mother  could   not  become   calm,   and 


176  Half  Hoars  with  Irish  Authors. 

she  fidgeted  about  the  room,  became  busy  in 
doing  nothing,  and  now  and  then  would  go  to  the 
door  of  the  house  to  listen  for  the  distant  tramp 
of  Frank's  horse  ;  but  Frank  came  not. 

More  than  the  hour  I  had  named  as  the  proba- 
ble time  of  his  return  had  elapsed,  and  my  moth- 
er's anxiety  had  amounted  to  a  painful  pitch,  and 
I  began  myself  to  blame  my  brother  for  so  long 
and  late  an  absence.  Still,  I  endeavored  to  calm 
her,  and  had  prevailed  on  her  to  seat  herself  again 
at  the  fire,  and  commenced  reading  a  page  or  two 
of  an  amusing  book,  when  suddenly  she  stopped 
me,  and  turned  her  head  to  the  window  in  the 
attitude  of  listening. 

"  It  is !  it  is  !  "  said  she  ;  "  I  hear  him  coming." 
And  now  the  sound  of  a  horse's  feet  in  a  rapid 
pace  became  audible.  She  rose  from  her  chair, 
and,  with  a  deeply  aspirated  "  Thank  God  !  "  went 
to  open  the  door  for  him  herself.  I  heard  the 
horse  now  pass  by  the  window  ;  in  a  second  01 
two  more,  the  door  was  opened,  and  instantly  a 
fearful  scream  from  my  mother  brought  me 
hastily  to  her  assistance.  I  found  her  lying  in  the 
hall  in  a  deep  swoon ;  the  servants  of  the  house 
hastily  crowded  to  the  spot  and  gave  her  imme- 
diate aid.  I  ran  to  the  door  to  ascertain  the 
cause  of  my  mother's  alarm,  and  there  I  saw 
Frank's  horse  panting  and  foaming,  and  the  sad- 
dle empty.  That  my  brother  had  been  thrown 
and  badly  hurt  was  the  first  thought  that  sug- 
gested itself;  and  a  car  and  horse  were  immedi- 


The  Priest's  Story.  1-7 

ately  ordered  to  drive  in  the  direction  he  had 
been  returning  ;  but  in  a  few  minutes  our  fears 
were  excited  to  the  last  degree  by  discovering 
there  was  blood  on  the  saddle. 

^  We  all  experienced  inconceivable  terror  at  the 
discovery  ;  but,  not  to  weary  you  with  details,  suf- 
fice   it    to    say  that   we   commenced    a    diligent 
search,  and  at  length  arrived  at  a  small  by-way 
that  turned  from  the  main  road  and  led  through 
a   bog,    which    was   the    nearest   course    for   my 
brother  to  have    taken   homewards,  and    we   ac- 
cordingly began    to  explore  it.     I  was  mounted 
on  the  horse  my  brother  had  ridden,  and  the  ani- 
mal   snorted    violently,    and    exhibited    evident 
symptoms  of  dislike  to  retrace  this  by-way,  which, 
I    doubted   not,   he    had    already   travelled   that 
night;  and  this  very  fact  made  me  still  more  ap- 
prehensive that  some  terrible    occurrence    must 
have  taken  place  to  occasion  such  excessive  re- 
pugnance on  the  part  of  the  animal.     However,  I 
urged  him  onward,  and,  telling  those  who  accom- 
panied me  to  follow  with  what  speed  they  might, 
I  dashed  forward,  followed  by  a  faithful  dog  of 
poor  Frank's. 

At  the  termination  of  about  half  a  mile,  the 
horse  became  still  more  impatient  of  restraint, 
and  started  at  every  ten  paces,  and  the  dog  be- 
gan to  traverse  the  little  road,  giving  an  occa- 
sional yelp,  sniffing  the  air  strongly,  and  lashing 
his  sides  with  his  tail,  as  if  on  some  scent. 

At  length  he  came  to  a  stand,  and  beat  about 


178  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

within  a  very  circumscribed  space,  yelping  occa- 
sionally, as  if  to  draw  my  attention.  I  dismount- 
ed immediately,  but  the  horse  was  so  extremely 
restless  that  the  difficulty  I  had  in  holding  him 
prevented  me  from  observing  the  road  by  the 
light  of  the  lantern  which  I  carried.  I  perceived, 
however,  it  was  very  much  trampled  hereabouts, 
and  bore  evidence  of  having  been  the  scene  of  a 
struggle. 

I  shouted  to  the  party  in  the  rear,  who  soon 
came  up  and  lighted  some  fagots  of  bog-wood, 
which  they  brought  with  them  to  assist  in  our 
search,  and  we  now  more  clearly  distinguished 
the  marks  I  have  alluded  to-. 

The  dog  still  howled  and  indicated  a  particular 
spot  to  us  ;  and  on  one  side  of  the  path,  upon  the 
stunted  grass,  we  discovered  a  quantity  of  fresh 
blood,  and  I  picked  up  a  pencil-case  which  I 
knew  had  belonged  to  my  murdered  brother — for 
I  now  was  compelled  to  consider  him  as  such — 
and  an  attempt  to  describe  the  agonized  feelings 
which  at  that  moment  I  experienced  would  be  in 
vain. 

We  continued  our  search  for  the  discovery 
of  his  body  for  many  hours  without  success,  and 
the  morning  was  far  advanced  before  we  returned 
home — how  changed  a  home  from  the  preced- 
ing day ! 

My  beloved  mother  could  scarcely  be  roused 
for  a  moment  from  a  sort  of  stupor  which  seized 
upon  her  when  the  paroxysm  of  frenzy  was  over 


The  Priest's  Story.  179 

which  the  awful  catastrophe  of  the  fatal  night  had 
produced. 

If  ever  heart  was  broken,  hers  was.  She  linger- 
ed but  a  few  weeks  after  the  son  she  adored,  and 
seldom  spoke  during  the  period,  except  to  call 
upon  his  name. 

But  I  will  not  dwell  on  this  painful  theme. 
Suffice  it  to  say  she  died;  and  her  death,  under 
such  circumstances,  increased  the  sensation  which 
my  brother's  mysterious  murder  had  excited. 
Yet,  with  all  the  horror  which  was  universally 
entertained  for  the  crime,  and  the  execrations 
poured  upon  its  atrocious  perpetrator,  still  the 
doer  of  the  deed  remained  undiscovered ;  and 
even  I,  who  of  course  was  the  most  active  in  seek- 
ing to  develop  the  mystery,  not  only  could  catch 
no  clue  to  lead  to  the  discovery  of  the  murderer, 
but  failed  even  to  ascertain  where  the  mangled 
remains  of  my  lost  brother  had  been  deposited. 

It  was  nearly  a  year  after  the  fatal  event  that 
a  penitent  knelt  to  me  and  confided  to  the  ear  of 
his  confessor  the  misdeeds  of  an  ill- spent  life  !  I  say 
of  his  whole  life,  for  he  had  never  before  knelt  at 
the  confessional. 

Fearful  was  the  catalogue  of  crime  that  was 
revealed  to  me — unbounded  selfishness,  oppres- 
sion, revenge,  and  lawless  passion  had  held  unbri- 
dled influence  over  the  unfortunate  sinner,  and 
sensuality  in  all  its  shapes,  even  to  the  polluted 
home  and  betrayed  maiden,  had  plunged  him 
deeply  into  sin. 


i8o  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

I  was  shocked — I  may  even  say  I  was  disgusted — 
and  the  culprit  himself  seemed  to  shrink  from  the 
recapitulation  of  his  crimes,  which  he  found  more 
extensive  and  appalling  than  he  had  dreamed  of, 
until  the  recital  of  them  called  them  all  up  in  fear- 
ful array  before  him.  I  was  about  to  commence 
an  admonition,  when  he  interrupted  me — he  had 
more  to  communicate.  I  desired  him  to  proceed 
— he  writhed  before  me.  I  enjoined  him  in  the 
name  of  the  God  he  had  offended,  and  who 
knoweth  the  inmost  heart,  to  make  an  unreserved 
disclosure  of  his  crimes  before  he  dared  to  seek  a 
reconciliation  with  his  Maker.  At  length,  aftei 
many  a  pause  and  convulsive  sob,  he  told  me,  in  a 
voice  almost  suffocated  by  terror,  that  he  had  been 
guilty  of  bloodshed.  I  shuddered,  but  in  a  short 
time  I  recovered  myself,  and  asked  how  and 
where  he  had  deprived  a  fellow-creature  of  life. 
Never,  to  the  latest  hour  of  my  life,  shall  I  forget 
the  look  which  the  miserable  sinner  gave  me  at 
that  moment.  His  eyes  were  glazed  and  seemed 
starting  from  their  sockets  with  terror;  his  face 
assumed  a  deadly  paleness  ;  he  raised  his  clasped 
hands  up  to  me  in  the  most  imploring  action,  as  if 
supplicating  mercy,  and,  with  livid  and  quivering 
lips,  he  gasped  out,  "  'Twas  I  who  killed  your 
brother!" 

O  God!  how  I  felt  at  that  instant!  Even  now, 
after  the  lapse  of  years,  I  recollect  the  sensation — 
it  was  as  if  the  blood  were  flowing  back  upon  my 
heart,  until  I  felt  as  if  it  would  burst;  and  then  a 


The  Priest's  Story.  181 

few  convulsive  breathings,  and  back  rushed  the 
blood  again  through  my  tingling  veins.  I  thought 
I  was  dying  ;  but  suddenly  I  uttered  an  hysteric 
laugh,  and  fell  back  senseless  in  my  seat. 

When  I  recovered,  a  cold  sweat  was  pouring 
down  my  forehead,  and  I  was  weeping  copiously. 
Never  before  did  I  feel  my  manhood  annihilated 
under  the  influence  of  an  hysterical  affection — it 
was  dreadful. 

I  found  the  blood-stained  sinner  supporting  me, 
roused  from  his  own  prostration  by  a  sense  of 
terror  at  my  emotion  ;  for,  when  I  could  hear  any- 
thing, his  entreaties  that  I  would  not  discover 
upon  him  were  poured  forth  in  the  most  abject 
strain  of  supplication.  "  Fear  not  for  your  miser- 
able life,"  said  I  ;  "the  seal  of  confession  is  upon 
what  you  have  revealed  to  me,  and  so  far  you  are 
safe;  but  leave  me  for  the  present,  and  come  not 
to  me  again  until  I  send  for  you."     He  departed. 

I  knelt  and  prayed  for  strength  to  him  who 
alone  could  give  it  to  fortify  me  in  this  dreadful 
trial.  Here  was  the  author  of  a  brother's  murder, 
and  a  mother's  consequent  death,  discovered  to 
me  in  the  person  of  my  penitent.  It  was  a  fear- 
ful position  for  a  frail  mortal  to  be  placed  in ;  but 
as  a  consequence  of  the  holy  calling  I  professed, 
I  hoped,  through  the  blessing  of  him  whom  I 
served,  to  acquire  fortitude' for  the  trial  into  which 
the  ministry  of  his  Gospel  had  led  me. 

The  fortitude  I  needed  came  through  prayer, 
and,  when  I  thought  myself  equal  to  the  task,  I 


1 82  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

sent  for  the  murderer  of  my  brother.  I  officiated 
for  him  as  our  church  has*  ordained-r-I  appointed 
penances  to  him,  and,  in  short,  dealt  with  him 
merely  as  any  other  confessor  might  have  done. 

Years  thus  passed  away,  and  during  that  time 
he  constantly  attended  his  duty  ;  and  it  was  remark- 
ed through  the  country  that  he  had  become  a 
quieter  person  since  Father  Roach  had  become 
his  confessor.  But  still  he  was  not  liked,  and,  in- 
deed, I  fear  be  was  far  from  a  reformed  man, 
though  he  did  not  allow  his  transgressions  to  be 
so  glaring  as  they  were  wont  to  be ;  and  I  began 
to  think  that  terror  and  cunning  had  been  his 
motives  in  suggesting  to  him  the  course  he  had 
adopted,  as  the  opportunities  which  it  gave  him 
of  being  often  with  me  as  his  confessor  were  like- 
ly to  lull  every  suspicion  of  his  guilt  in  the  eyes 
of  the  world  ;  and,  in  making  me  the  depositary  of 
his  fearful  secret,  he  thus  placed  himself  beyond 
the  power  of  my  pursuit,  and  interposed  the 
strongest  barrier  to  my  becoming  the  avenger  of 
his  bloody  deed. 

Hitherto  I  have  not  made  you  acquainted  with 
the  cause  of  that  foul  act — it  was  jealousy.  He 
found  himself  rivalled  by  my  brother  in  the  good 
graces  of  a  beautiful  girl  of  moderate  circum- 
stances, whom  he  would  have  wished  to  obtain  as 
his  wife,  but  to  whom  Frank  had  become  an 
object  of  greater  interest;  and  I  doubt  not,  had 
my  poor  fellow  been  spared,  that  marriage  would 
ultimately  have  drawn  closer  the  ties  that  were  so 


The  Priest's  Story.  183 

savagely  severed.  But  the  ambuscade  and  the 
knife  had  done  their  deadly  work ;  for  the  coward- 
ly villain  had  lain  in  wait  for  him  on  the  lonely 
bog-road  he  guessed  he  would  travel  on  that  fatal 
night,  and,  springing  from  his  lurking-place,  he 
stabbed  my  noble  Frank  in  the  back. 

Well,  sir,  I  fear.  I  am  tiring  you  with  a  story 
which  you  cannot  wonder  is  interesting  to  me  ; 
but  I  shall  hasten  to  a  conclusion. 

One  gloomy  evening  in  March,  I  was  riding 
along  the  very  road  where  my  brother  had  met 
his  fate,  in  company  with  his  murderer.  I  know 
not  what  brought  us  together  in  such  a  place,  ex- 
cept the  hand  of  Providence  that  sooner  or  later 
brings  the  murderer  to  justice ;  for  I  was  not 
wont  to  pass  the  road,  and  loathed  the  company 
of  the  man  who  happened  to  overtake  me  upon  it. 
I  know  not  whether  it  was  some  secret  visitation 
of  conscience  that  influenced  him  at  the  time,  01 
that  he  thought  the  lapse  of  years  had  wrought 
upon  me  so  far  as  to  obliterate  the  grief  for  my 
brother's  death,  which  had  never  been  till  that 
moment  alluded  to,  however  remotely,  since  he 
confessed  his  crime.  Judge,  then,  my  surprise, 
when,  directing  my  attention  to  a  particular  point 
in  the  bog,  he  said  : 

"  "lis  close  by  that  place  that  your  brother  is 
buried." 

I  could  not,  I  think,  have  been  more  astonished 
had  my  brother  appeared  before  me. 

"  What  brother?"  said  I. 


184  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"  Your  brother  Frank,"  said  he;  "  'twas  there  I 
buried  him,  poor  fellow,  after  I  killed  him." 

"  Merciful  God  !  thy  will  be  done."  And,  seiz- 
ing the  rein  of  the  culprit's  horse,  I  said,  "  Wretch 
that  you  are  !  you  have  owned  to  the  shedding 
of  the  innocent  blood  that  has  been  crying  to 
heaven  for  vengeance  these  ten  years,  and  I  arrest 
you  here  as  my  prisoner." 

He  turned  ashy  pale,  as  he  faltered  out  a  few 
words  to  say  I  had  promised  not  to  betray  him. 

"  'Twas  under  the  seal  of  confession,"  said  I, 
"  that  you  disclosed  the  deadly  secret,  and  under 
that  seal  my  lips  must  have  been  for  ever  closed  ; 
but  now,  even  in  the  very  place  where  your  crime 
was  committed,  it  has  pleased  God  that  you 
should  arraign  yourself  in  the  face  of  the  world, 
and  the  brother  of  your  victim  is  appointed  to 
be  the  avenger  of  his  innocent  blood." 

He  was  overwhelmed  by  the  awfulness  of  this 
truth,  and  unresistingly  he  rode  beside  me  to  the 

adjacent  town  of ,  where  he  was  committed 

for  trial. 

The  report  of  this  singular  and  providential 
discovery  of  a  murderer  excited  a  great  deal  of 
interest  in  the  country  ;  and,  as  I  was  known  to  be 
the  culprit's  confessor,  the  bishop  of  the  diocese 
forwarded  a  statement  to  a  higher  quarter,  which 
procured  for  me  a  dispensation  as  regarded  the 
confessions  of  the  criminal ;  and  I  was  handed  this 
instrument  absolving  me  from  further  secrecy,  a 
few  days  before  the  trial.      I   was  the  principal 


The  Priest's  Story.  185 

evidence  against  the  prisoner.  The  body  of  my 
brother  had,  in  the  interim,  been  found  in  the  spot 
his  murderer  had  indicated,  and  the  bog  preserv- 
ed it  so  far  from  decay  as  to  render  recognition  a 
task  of  no  difficulty.  The  proof  was  so  satisfacto- 
rily adduced  to  the  jury  that  the  murderer  was 
found  guilty  and  executed  ten  years  after  he  had 
committed  the  crime. 

The  judge  pronounced  a  very  feeling  comment 
on  the  nature  of  the  situation  in  which  I  had  been 
placed  for  so  many  years,  and  passed  a  very  flat- 
tering culogium  upon  what  he  was  pleased  to  call, 
"  my  heroic  observance  of  the  obligation  of  the 
secrecy  by  which  I  had  been  bound." 

Thus,  sir,  you  see  how  sacred  a  trust  that  of  a 
fact  revealed  under  confession  is  held  by  our 
church,  when  even  the  avenging  of  a  brother's 
murder  was  not  sufficient  warranty  for  its  being 
broken.* 


*  This  story  is  a  fact,  and  the  comment  of  the  judge  upon  the  priest's  fidelity, 
I  am  happy  to  say,  is  true. 


PADDY  THE  PIPER. 


Dogberry. — "  Marry,  sir,  they  have  committed  false  reports; 
moreover,  they  have  spoken  untruths  ;  secondarily,  they  are  slan- 
derers ;  sixthly,  and  lastly,  they  have  belied  a  lady;  thirdly,  they 
have  verified  unjust  things  ;  and,  to  conclude,  they  are  lying 
knaves." — Much  Ado  about  Nothing. 

THE  only  introduction  I  shall  attempt  to  the 
following  extravaganza,  is  to  request  the 
reader  to  suppose  it  to  be  delivered  by  a  frolick- 
ing Irish  peasant,  in  the  richest  brogue  and  most 
dramatic  manner : 

I'll  tell  you,  sir,  a  mighty  quare  story,  and  it's 
as  thrue  as  I'm  standin'  here,  and  that's  no  lie. 

It  was  in  the  time  of  the  "ruction,"*  when  the 
long  summer  days,  like  many  a  fine  fellow's  pre- 
cious life,  was  cut  short  by  raison  of  the  martial 
law  that  wouldn't  let  a  dacent  boy  be  out  in  the 
evenin',  good  or  bad  ;  for,  whin  the  day's  work 
was  over,  divil  a  one  of  uz  dar  to  go  to  meet  a 
frind  over  a  glass,  or  a  girl  at  the  dance,  but  must 
go  home,  and  shut  ourselves  up,  and  never  budge, 
nor  rise  latch,  nor  dhraw  boult  until  the  morning 
kem  again.  Well,  to  come  to  my  story.  'Twas 
afther  nightfall,  and  we  wor  sittin'  round  the  fire, 

*  Insurrection. 


Paddy  the  Piper.  187 

and  the  praties  were  boiling-,  and  the  noggins  of 
butthermilk  was  standin'  ready  for  our  suppers, 
whin  a  knock  kem  to  the  door. 

"  Whist !  "  says  my  father,  "  here's  the  sojers 
come  upon  us  now,"  says  he.  "  Bad  luck  to  them, 
the  villians,  I'm  afeerd  they  seen  a  glimmer  of 
the  lire  through  the  crack  in  the  door,"  says  he. 

"  No,"  says  my  mother ;  "  for  I'm  afther  hang- 
in'  an  ould  sack  and  my  new  petticoat  agin  it,  a 
while  ago." 

"  Well,  whistht,  anyhow,"  says  my  father,  "  for 
there's  a  knock  agin."  And  we  all  held  our 
tongues  till  another  thump  kem  to  the  door. 

"  Oh  !  it's  a  folly  to  purtind  any  more,"  says  my 
father,  "  they're  too  cute  to  be  put  off  that  a' 
way,"  says  he.  "  Go,  Shamus,"  says  he  to  me, 
"  and  see  who's  in  it." 

"  How  can  I  see  who's  in  it,  in  the  dark  ? " 
says  I. 

"  Well,"  says  he,  "  light  the  candle,  thin,  and 
see  who's  in  it,  but  don't  open  the  door  for  your 
life,  barrin'  they  brake  it  in,"  says  he,  "  exceptin' 
to  the  sojers,  and  spake  thim  fair,  if  it's  thim." 

So  with  that  I  wint  to  the  door,  and  there  was 
another  knock. 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  says  I. 

"  It's  me,"  says  he. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  says  I. 

"  A  frind,"  says  he. 

"  Bait  her  shin  /"  says  I.     "  Who  are  you  at  all  ?" 

"  Arrah  !  don't  you  know  me  ?  "  says  he. 


1 88  Half  Hoars  with  Irish  Authors. 

"  Divil  a  taste,"  says  I. 

"  Shure  I'm  Paddy  the  Piper,"  says  he. 

"  Oh  !  thunder-an'-turf,"  says  I.  "  Is  it  you, 
Paddy,  that's  in  it  ?  " 

"  Sorra  one  else,"  says  he. 

"  And  what  brought  you  at  this  hour?"  says  I. 

"  By  gar,"  says  he,  "  I  didn't  like  goin'  the 
roun'  by  the  road,"  says  he,  "  and  so  I  kem  the 
short  cut,  and  that's  what  delayed  me,"  says  he. 

"  Oh  !  bloody  wars !  "  says  I,  "  Paddy,  I 
wouldn't  be  in  your  shoes  for  the  king's  ransom," 
says  I  ;  "  for  you  know  it's  a  hangin'  matther  to  be 
cotched  out  these  times,"  said  I, 

"  Sur,  I  know  that,"  says  he,  "  God  help  me ! 
and  that's  what  I  kem  to  you  for,"  says  he.  "  And 
let  me  in  for  ould  acquaintance'  sake,"  says  poor 
Paddy. 

"  Oh  !  by  this  and  that,"  says  I,  "  I  darn't  open 
the  door  for  the  wide  world,  and  sure  you  know 
it ;  and  troth,  if  the  Husshians  or  the  Yeos* 
ketches  you,"  says  I,  "they'll  murthur  you,  as 
sure  as  your  name's  Paddy." 

"Many  thanks  to  you,"  says  he,  "for  your 
good  intintions ;  but,  plaze  the  pigs,  I  hope  it's 
not  the  likes  o'  that  is  in  store  for  me,  anyhow." 

"  Faix,  then,"  sa}rs  I,  "  you'd  betther  lose  no 
time  in  hidin'  yourself,"  says  I ;  "  for,  throth,  I 
tell  you  it's  a  short  thrial  and  a  long  rope  the 
Husshians  would  be  afther  givin'  you,  for  they've 
no  justice,  and  less  marcy,  the  villians!" 

♦Yeomen. 


Paddy  the  Piper.  189 

"  Faith,  thin,  more's  the  raison  you  should  let 
*me  in,  Shamus,"  says  poor  Paddy. 

"  It's  a  folly  to  talk,"  says  I ;  "I  darn't  open  the 
door." 

"Oh!  thin,  millia  murther!"  says  Paddy. 
"  What'll  become  of  me  at  all  at  all  ?  "  says  he. 

"  Go  aff  into  the  shed,"  says  I,  "  behin'  the 
house,  where  the  cow  is,  and  there's  an  illigant  lock 
o'  straw  that  you  may  go  sleep  in,"  says  I;  "and 
a  fine  bed  it  ud  be  for  a  lord,  let  alone  a  piper." 

So  off  Paddy  set  to  hide  in  the  shed,  and,  troth, 
it  wint  to  our  hearts  to  refuse  him  and  turn  him 
away  from  the  door,  more  by  token  when  the 
praties  was  ready,  for  sure  the  bit  and  the  sup  is 
always  welkim  to  the  poor  traveller.  Well,  we 
all  wint  to  bed,  and  Paddy  hid  himself  in  the 
cow-house  ;  and  now  I  must  tell  you  how  it  was 
with  Paddy. 

You  see,  afther  sleeping-  for  some  time,  Paddy 
wakened  up,  thinkin'  it  was  mornin',  but  it  wasn't 
mornin'  at  all,  but  only  the  light  o'  the  moon  that 
desaved  him  ;  but,  at  all  events,  he  wanted  to  be 
stirrin'  airly,  bekase  he  was  going  off  to  the  town 
hard  by,  it  bein'  fair-day,  to  pick  up  a  few  ha'- 
pence with  his  pipes,  for  the  divil  a  betther  piper 
was  in  all  the  counthry  round  nor  Paddy ;  and 
every  one  gave  it  up  to  Paddy  that  .he  was  illi- 
gant an  the  pipes,  and  played  "  Jinny  bang'd  the 
Weaver"  beyant  tellin',  and  the  "  Hare  in  the 
Corn"  that  you'd  think  the  very  dogs  was  in  it, 
and  the  horsemen  ridin'  like  mad. 


190  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

Well,  as  I  was  sayin',  he  set  off  to  go  to  the 
fair,  and  he  went  meandherin'  along-  through  the. 
fields,  but  he  didn't  go  far,  antil,  climbin'  up 
through  a  hedge,  when  he  was  comin'  out  at 
t'other  side,  his  head  kem  plump  agin  somethin' 
that  made  the  fire  flash  out  iv  o'  his  eyes.  So 
with  that  he  looks  up,  and  what  do  you  think  it 
was,  Lord  be  merciful  to  uz !  but  a  corpse  hang- 
in'  out  of  a  branch  of  a  three  ? 

"  Oh !  the  top  o'  the  mornin'  to  you,  sir,'' 
says  Paddy  ;  "  and  is  that  the  way  with  you, 
my  poor  fellow  ?  Throth  you  took  a  start  out 
o'  me,"  says  poor  Paddy.  And  'twas  true  for 
him,  for  it  would  make  the  heart  of  a  stouter 
man  nor  Paddy  jump  to  see  the  like,  and  to  think 
of  a  Christian  crathur  being  hanged  up  all  as  one 
as  a  dog. 

Now,  'twas  the  rebels  that  hanged  this  chap  ; 
because,  you  see,  the  corpse  had  got  clothes  an 
him,  and  that's  the  raison  that  one  might  know  it 
was  the  rebels — by  raison  that  the  Husshians  and 
the  Orangemen  never  hanged  anybody  with  good 
clothes  an  him,  but  only  the  poor  and  definceless 
crathurs  like  uz ;  so,  as  I  said  before,  Paddy 
knew  well  it  was  the  boys  that  done  it.  "  And,"  says 
Paddy,  eyein'  the  corpse,  "  by  my  sowl,  thin,  but 
you  have  a  beautiful  pair  o'  boots  an  )rou,"  says 
he,  "and  it's  what  I  am  thinkin'  you  won't  have 
any  great  use  for  thim  no  more ;  and  sure  it's  a 
shame  to  see  the  likes  o'  me,"  says  he,  "  the  best 
piper  in  the  sivin  counties,  to  be  trampin'  wid  a 


Paddy  tke  Piper.  191 

pair  of  ould  brogues  not  worth  three  traneens,  and 

•  a  corpse  with  such  an  iligant  pair  o'  boots  that 
wants  some  one  to  wear  thim."  So,  with  that, 
Paddy  lays  hould  of  him  by  the  boots,  and  began 
a  pullin'  at  thim,  but  they  were  mighty  stiff;  and, 
whether  it  was  by  raison  of  their  bin'  so  tight,  or 
the  branch  of  the  three  a-giggin'  up  and  down  all 
as  one  as  a  weighdee  buckettee,  an'  not  lettin 
Paddy  cotch  any  right  hoult  o'  thim,  he  could 
get  no  advantage  o  thim  at  all ;  and  at  last  he  gev 
it  up,  and  was  goin'  away,  when,  lookin'  behind 
him  agin,  the  sight  of  the  iligant  fine  boots  was  too 
much  for  him,  and  he  turned  back,  determined  to 
have  the  boots  anyhow,  by  fair  means  or  foul. 
And  I'm  loath  to  tell  you  now  how  he  got  them  ; 
for,  indeed,  it  was  a  dirty  turn,  and  throth  it  was 
the  only  dirty  turn  I  ever  knew  Paddy  to  be  guil- 
ty av  ;  and  you  see  it  was  this  a-way :  'pon  my 
sowl,  he  pulled  out  a  big  knife,  and,  by  the  same 
token,  it  was  a  knife  with  a  fine  buck-handle,  and  a 
murtherin'  big  blade,  that  an  uncle  o'  mine  that 
was  a  gardener  at  the  lord's  made  Paddy  a  prisint 
av  ;  and,  more  by  token,  it  was  not  the  first  mis- 
chief that  knife  done  ;  for  it  cut  love  between  thim 
that  was  the  best  of  friends  before  ;  and  sure  'twas 
the  wondher  of  every  one  that  two  knowledg- 
able  men  that  ought  to  know  betther  would  do 
the  likes,  and  give  and  take  sharp  steel  in  friend- 
ship ;  but  I'm  forgettin' — well,  he  outs  with  his 
knife,  and  what  does  he  do  but  he  cuts  off  the  leers 
of  the  corpse.  "And,"  says  he,  "  I  can  take  off  the 


192  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

boots  at  my  convaynience."    And  throth  it  was,  as  I 
said  before,  a  dirty  turn. 

Well,  sir,  he  tucked  the  legs  under  his  arms, 
and  at  that  minit  the  moon  peeped  out  from  be-, 
hind  a  cloud.  "  Oh  !  is  it  there  you  are  ?"  says  he 
to  the  moon,  for  he  was  an  impident  chap  ;  and 
thin,  seem'  that  he  made  a  mistake,  and  that  the 
moonlight  deceived  him  that  it  was  the  airly 
dawn,  as  he  conceived ;  and  bein'  friken'd  for  fear 
himself  might  be  cotched  and  trated  like  the  poor 
corpse  he  was  afther  malthreating,  if  he  was  found 
walking  the  counthry  at  that  time — by  gar,  he 
turned  about,  and  walked  back  agin  to  the  cow- 
house, and  hidin'  the  corpse's  legs  in  the  sthraw, 
Paddy  went  to  sleep  agin.  But  what  do  you 
think  ?  The  devil  a  long  Paddy  was  there  antil  the 
sojers  came  in  airnest,  and,  by  the  powers,  they 
carried  off  Paddy — and  faith  it  was  only  sarvin' 
him  right  for  what  he  had  done  to  the  poor 
corpse. 

Well,  whin  the  mornin'  kem,  my  father  says  to 
me,  "  Go,  Shamus,"  says  he,  "  to  the  shed,  and  bid 
poor  Paddy  come  in,  and  take  share  o'  the  praties  ; 
for,  I  go  bail,  he's  ready  for  his  breakquest  by  this 
anyhow." 

Well,  out  I  wint  to  the  cow-house,  and  called 
out "  Paddy  !"  and,  afther  callin'  three  or  four  times 
and  getting  no  answer,  I  wint  in,  and  called  agin, 
and  divil  an  answer  I  got  still.  "  Blood-an-agers  !" 
says  I,  "  Paddy,  where  are  you  at  all  at  all  ?"  And 
so,  castin'  my  eyes  about  the  shed,  I  seen  two  feet 


Paddy  the  Piper.  193 

*  sticking  out  from  undher  the  hape  o'  sthraw. 
"  Musha  !  thin,"  says  I,  "  bad  luck  to  you,  Paddy, 
but  you're  fond  of  a  warm  corner,  and  may  be  you 
haven't  made  yourself  as  snug  as  a  flay  in  a  blan- 
ket? But  I'll  disturb  your  dhrames,  I'm  thinkin','' 
says  I.  And  with  that  I  laid  hold  of  his  heels  (as  I 
thought,  God  help  me  !),  and,givin'  a  good  pull  to 
waken  him,  as  I  intinded,  away  I  wint  head  over 
heels,  and  my  brains  was  a'most  knocked  out  agin 
the  wall. 

Well,  whin  I  recovered  myself,  there  I  was 
on  the  broad  o'  my  back,  and  two  things  stickin' 
out  o'  my  hands  like  a  pair  o'  Husshian's  horse- 
pist'ls,  and  I  thought  the  sight  id  lave  my  eyes 
whin  I  seen  they  were  two  mortial  legs. 

My  jew'l !  I  threw  them  down  like  a  hot  pra- 
tee,  and,  jumpin'  up,  I  roared  out  millia  murther. 
"  Oh  !  you  murtherin'  villain,"  says  I,  shaking  my 
fist  at  the  cow.  "  Oh  !  you  unnath'ral  baste"  says 
I,  "you've  ate  poor  Paddy,  you  thievin'  cannibal. 
You're  worse  than  a  naygar,"  says  I ;  "  and,  bad 
luck  to  you,  how  dainty  you  are,  that  nothin'  'id 
sarve  you  for  your  supper  but  the  best  piper  in 
Ireland  !  Weirasthru  I  weirastliru !  What'll  the 
whole  counthry  say  to  such  a  unnath'ral  murther? 
And  you  lookin'  as  innocent  there  as  a  lamb,  and 
atin'  your  hay  as  quiet  as  if  nothin'  happened." 
With  that  I  run  out — for  throth  I  didn't  like  to  be 
near  her — and,  goin'  to  the  house,  I  tould  them 
all  about  it. 

"  Arrah  !  be  aisy,"  says  my  father. 


194  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"  Bad  luck  to  the  lie  I  tell  you,"  says  I. 

"  Is  it  ate  Paddy  ?"  says  they. 

"  Divil  a  doubt  of  it,"  says  I. 

"  Are  you  sure,  Shamus?"  says  my  mother. 

"  I  wish  1  was  as  sure  of  a  new  pair  o'  brogues," 
says  I.  "  Bad  luck  to  the  bit  she  has  left  iv  him 
but  his  two  legs." 

"And  do  you  tell  me  she  ate  the  pipes,  too?" 
says  my  father. 

"  By  gor,  I  b'lieve  so,"  says  I. 

"  Oh !  the  divil  fly  away  wid  her,"  says  he. 
"  What  a  cruel  taste  she  has  for  music  !" 

"  Arrah !"  says  mother,  "  don't  be  cursin'  the 
cow  that  gives  milk  to  the  childer." 

"  Yis,  I  will,"  sa}rs  my  father.  "  Why  shouldn't 
I  curse  sich  an  unnath'ral  baste  ?' 

"  You  oughtn't  to  curse  any  livin'  thing  that's 
under  your  roof,"  says  my  mother. 

"  By  my  soul,  thin,"  says  my  father,  "  she  sha'n't 
be  undher  my  roof  any  more  ;  for  I'll  sind  her  to 
the  fair  this  minit,"  says  he,  "  and  sell  her  for  what- 
ever she'll  bring.  Go  afF,"  says  he,  "  Shamus,  the 
minit  you've  ate.  your  breakquest,  and  dhrive  her 
to  the  fair." 

"  Throth  I  don't  like  to  dhrive  her,"  says  I. 

"  Arrah  !  don't  be  makin'  a  gommach  of  your- 
self," says  he. 

"  Faith,  I  don't,"  says  I. 

"Well,  like  or  no  like,"  says  he, "  you  must  dhrive 
her." 


Paddy  the  Piper.  195 

"  Sure,  father,"  says  I,  "  you  could  take  more  care 
iv  her  yourself." 

"  That's  mighty  good,"  says  he,  "  to  keep  a  dog 
and  bark  myself" — and,  faith,  I  rec'llected  the  say- 
in'  from  that  hour — "  let  me  have  no  more  words 
about  it,"  says  he,  "  but  be  aff  with  you." 

So  aff  I  wint,  and  it's  no  lie  I'm  tellin'  when 
I  say  it  was  sore  agin  my  will  I  had  anything  to 
do  with  such  a  villain  of  a  baste.  But,  howsom- 
ever,  I  cut  a  brave  long  whattle,  that  I  might 
drive  the  man-ather  iv  a  thief,  as  she  was,  without 
bein'  near  her  at  all  at  all. 

Well,  away  we  wint  along  the  road,  and  mighty 
throng  it  was  with  the  boys  and  the  girls — and,  in 
short,  all  sorts,  rich  and  poor,  high  and  low, 
crowdin'  to  the  fair. 

"  God  save  you  !"  says  one  to  me. 

"  God  save  you,  kindly  !"  says  I. 

"That's  a  fine  baste  you're  dhrivin',"  says  he. 

"  Throth  she  is,"  says  I,  though  God  knows  it 
wint  agin  my  heart  to  say  a  good  word  for  the 
likes  of  her. 

"  It's  to  the  fair  you're  goin',  I  suppose,"  says  he, 
"  with  the  baste?"  (He  was  a  snug-lookin'  farmer, 
ridin'  a  purty  little  gray  hack.) 

"  Faith,  thin,  you're  right  enough,"  says  I.  "  It's 
to  the  fair  I'm  goin'." 

"  What  do  you  expec'  for  her  ?"  says  he. 

"Faith,  thin,  myself  doesn't  know,"  says  I — and 
that  was  thrue  enough,  you  see,  bekase  I  was  be- 
wildered like  about  the  baste  entirely. 


196  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"  Och  !"  sa)-s  I,  not  likin'  to  let  him  suspict  there 
was  any  thing  wrong  wid  her — "  och  !"  says  I,  in  a 
careless  sort  of  a  way,  "  sure  no  one  can  tell  what 
a  baste'll  bring  antil  they  come  to  the  fair,"  says 
I,  "  and  see  what  price  is  goin'." 

"  Indeed,  that's  nath'ral  enough,"  says  he.  "  But 
if  you  wor  bid  a  fair  price  before  you  come  to  the 
fair,  sure  you  might  as  well  take  it,"  says  he. 

"  Oh  !  I've  no  objection  in  life,"  says  I. 

"  Well,  thin,  what'll  you  ax  for  her  ?  "  says  he. 

"  Why,  thin,  I  wouldn't  like  to  be  onraysona- 
ble,"  says  I  (for  the  thruth  was,  you  know,  I 
wanted  to  get  rid  iv  her),  "  and  so  I'll  take  four 
pounds  for  her,"  says  I,  "  and  no  less." 

"  No  less  !  "  says  he. 

"  Why,  sure,  that's  chape  enough,"  says  I. 

"  Troth  it  is,"  says  he ;  "  and  I'm  thinkin  it's 
too  chape  it  is,"  says  he ;  "  for,  if  there  wasn't 
somethin'  the  matter,  it's  not  for  that  you'd  be 
sellin'  the  fine  milch  cow  as  she  is  to  all  appear- 
ance." 

"  Indeed,  thin,"  says  I,  "  upon  my  conscience, 
she  is  a  fine  milch  cow." 

"  May  be,"  says  he,  "  she's  gone  off  her  milk, 
in  regard  that  she  doesn't  feed  well?" 

"  Och  !  by  this  and  that,"  says  I,  "  in  regard  of 
feedin'  there's  not  the  likes  of  her  in  Ireland  ;  so 
make  your  mind  aisy,  and,  if  you  like  her  for  the 
money,  you  may  have  her." 

"  "Why,  indeed,  I'm  not  in  a  hurry,"  says  he, 
"  and  I'll  wait  to  see  how  they'll  go  in  the  fair." 


Paddy  the  Piper.  \qj 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  says  I,  purtending  to  be 
no  ways  consarned  ;  but,  in  throth,  I  began  to  be 
afeerd  that  the  people  was  seein'  somethin'  un- 
nath'ral  about  her,  and  that  we'd  never  get  rid  of 
her  at  all  at  all.  At  last  we  kern  to  the  fair,  and 
a  great  sight  o'  people  was  in  it;  throth  you'd 
think  the  whole  world  was  there,  let  alone  the 
standin's  o'  gingerbread,  and  iligant  ribbins,  and 
makin's  o'  beautiful  gownds,  and  pitch-and-toss, 
and  merry-go-rouns,  and  tints  with  the  best  av 
drink  in  them,  and  the  fiddles  playin'  up  t'  encour- 
age the  boys  and  girls ;  but  I  never  minded  them 
at  all,  but  determint  to  sell  the  thieven'  rogue  av 
a  cow  afore  I'd  mind  any  divarshin  in  life  ;  so  an 
I  dhriv  her,  into  the  thick  av  the  fair,  when  all  of 
a  suddint,  as  I  kern  to  the  door  av  a  tint,  up 
struck  the  pipes  to  the  tune  av  "  Tatterin'  Jack 
Welsh,"  and,  my  jew'l !  in  a  minit,  the  cow  cocked 
her  ears,  and  was  makin'  a  dart  at  the  tint. 

"  O  murther  !"  says  I  to  the  boys  standin'  by, 
"  hould  her  !  "  says  I,  "  hould  her!  She  ate  one 
piper  already,  the  vagabone,  and,  bad  luck  to 
her,  she  wants  another  now." 

"  Is  it  a  cow  for  to  ate  a  piper?"  says  one  of 
them. 

"  Divil  a  word  o'  lie  in  it,  for  I  seen  his  corpse 
myself,  and  nothin'  left  but  the  two  legs,"  says  I. 
u  And  it's  folly  to  be  strivin'  to  hide  it,  for  I  see 
she'll  never  lave  it  aff,  as  poor  Paddy  Grogan 
knows  to  his  cost,  the  Lord  be  merciful  to  him  !  " 

"  Who's  that  takin'  my  name  in  vain  ?  "  says  a 


198  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

voice  in  the  crowd  ;  and,  with  that,  shovin'  the 
throng-  a  one  side,  who  the  devil  should  I  see  but 
Paddy  Grogan  to  all  appearance. 

"  Oh  !  hould  him,  too  !  "  says  I ;  "  keep  him  aff 
me,  for  it's  not  himself  at  all,  but  his  ghost,"  says 
I  ;  "  for  he  was  kilt  last  night  to  my  sartin  know- 
ledge, every  inch  of  him,  all  to  his  legs." 

Well,  sir,  with  that,  Paddy,  for  it  was  Paddy, 
as  it  kem  out  after,  fell  a-laughin'  that  you'd  think 
his  sides  ud  split,  and,  when  he  kem  to  himself,  he 
ups  and  he  tould  us  how  it  was,  as  I  tould  you 
already;  and  the  likes  av  the  fun  they  made  av 
me  was  beyant  tellin'  for  wrongfully  misdoubtin' 
the  poor  cow,  and  layin'  the  blame  iv  atin  a  piper 
an  her.  So  we  all  wint  into  the  tint  to  have  it 
explained,  and,  by  gor,  it  took  a  full  gallon  o' 
sper'ts  to  explain  it,  and  we  dhrank  health  and 
long  life  to  Paddy  and  the  cow,  and  Paddy  played 
that  day  beyant  all  tellin',  and  many  a  one  said 
the  likes  was  never  heerd  before  nor  sence,  even 
from  Paddy  himself;  and  av  coorse  the  poor 
slandered  cow  was  dhruv  home  agin,  and  many  a 
quiet  day  she  had  wid  us  afther  that ;  and,  whin 
she  died,  throth,  my  father  had  sitch  a  regard  for 
the  poor  thing,  that  he  had  her  skinned,  and  an 
iligant  pair  of  breeches  made  out  iv  her  hide,  and 
it's  in  the  family  to  this  day ;  and  isn't  it  mighty 
remarkable  it  is,  what  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you  now, 
but  it's  as  thrue  as  I'm  here,  that,  from  that  out, 
any  one  that  has  them  breeches  on,  the  minit  a 
pair  o'  pipes  sthrikes  up  the}'-  can't  rest,  but  goes 


Paddy  the  Piper.  199 

jiggin'  and  jiggin'  in  their  sate,  and  never  stops  as 
long  as  the  pipes  is  playin' ;  and  there,"  said  he, 
slapping  the  garment  in  question  that  covered 
his  sinewy  limb,  with  a  spank  of  his  brawn)'  hand 
that  might  have  startled  nerves  more  tender  than 
mine — "  there  is  the  very  breeches  that's  an  me 
now,  and  a  fine  pair  they  are  this  minit." 


THE  WHITE  TROUT. 

A  LEGEND   OF   CONG. 


Oh  !  I  would  ask  no  happier  bed 
Than  the  chill  wave  my  love  lies  under ; 

Sweeter  to  rest  together,  dead, 
Far  sweeter  than  to  live  asunder. 

—Lalla  Rookh. 

THE  next  morning-  I  proceeded  alone  to  the 
cave,  to  witness  the  natural  curiosity  of  its 
subterranean  river,  my  interest  in  the  visit  being 
somewhat  increased  by  the  foregoing  tale.  Leav- 
ing my  horse  at  the  little  village  of  Cong,  I  bent 
my  way  on  foot  through  the  fields,  if  you  may  ven- 
ture to  give  that  name  to  the  surface  of  this  immedi- 
ate district  of  the  county  Mayo,  which,  presenting 
large  flat  masses  of  limestone,  intersected  by 
patches  of  verdure,  gives  one  the  idea  much  more 
of  a  burial-ground  covered  with  monumental  slabs, 
than  a  formation  of  nature.  Yet  (I  must  make  the 
remark  en  passant)  such  is  the  richness  of  the  pas- 
ture in  these  little  verdant  interstices  that  cattle 
are  fattened  upon  it  in  a  much  shorter  time  than  on 
a  meadow  of  the  most  cultured  aspect ;  and  though 
to  the  native  of  Leinster  this  land  (if  we  may  be 


The   White   Trout.  201 

pardoned  a  premeditated  bull)  would  appear  all 
stones,  the  Mayo  farmer  knows  it  from  experience 
to  be  a  profitable  tenure.  Sometimes  deep  clefts 
occur  between  these  laminae  of  limestone  rock, 
which,  closely  overgrown  with  verdure,  have  not 
unfrequently  occasioned  serious  accidents  to  man 
and  beast;  and  one  of  these  chasms,  of  larger 
dimensions  than  usual,  forms  the  entrance  to  the 
celebrated  cave  in  question.  Very  rude  steps  of 
unequal  height,  partly  natural  and  partly  artificial, 
lead  the  explorer  of  its  quiet  beauty,  by  an  abrupt 
descent,  to  the  bottom  of  the  cave,  which  contains 
an  enlightened  area  of  some  thirty  or  forty  feet, 
whence  a  naturally  vaulted  passage  opens,  of  the 
deepest  gloom.  The  depth  of  the  cave  may  be 
about  equal  to  its  width  at  the  bottom ;  the  mouth 
is  not  more  than  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  across ;  and 
pendent  from  its  margin  clusters  of  ivy  and  other 
parasite  plants  hang  and  cling  in  all  the  fantastic 
variety  of  natural  festooning  and  tracery.  It  is  a 
truly  beautiful  and  poetical  little  spot,  and  par- 
ticularly interesting  to  the  stranger,  from  being 
unlike  anything  else  one  has  ever  seen,  and  having 
none  of  the  noisy  and  vulgar  pretence  of  regular 
show  places,  which  calls  upon  you  every  moment 
to  exclaim  "  Prodigious  !" 

An  elderly  and  decent-looking  woman  had  just 
filled  her  pitcher  with  the  deliciously  cold 
and  clear  water  of  the  subterranean  river  that 
flowed  along  its  bed  of  small,  smooth,  and  many- 
colored  pebbles,  as  I  arrived  at  the  bottom  ;  and, 


202  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

perceiving  at  once  that  I  was  a  stranger,  she 
paused,  partly,  perhaps,  with  the  pardonable  pride 
of  displaying  her  local  knowledge,  but  more  from 
the  native  peasant  politeness  of  her  country  to  be- 
come the  temporary  cicerone  of  the  cave.  She 
spoke  some  words  of  Irish,  and  hurried  forth  on 
her  errand  a  very  handsome  and  active  boy,  of 
whom  she  informed  me  she  was  the  great-grand- 
mother. 

"  Great-grandmother  !'  I  repeated,  in  unfeign- 
ed astonishment. 

"  Yes,  your  honor,"  she  answered,  with  evident 
pleasure  sparkling  in  her  eyes,  which  time  had 
not  yet  deprived  of  their  brightness,  or  the  soul- 
subduing  influence  of  this  selfish  world  bereft  of 
their  kind-hearted  expression. 

"  You  are  the  youngest  woman  I  have  ever  seen," 
said  I,  "  to  be  a  great-grandmother." 

"  Troth  I  don't  doubt  you,  sir,"  she  answered. 

"  And  you  seem  still  in  good  health,  and  likely 
to  live  many  a  year  yet,"  said  I. 

"  With  the  help  of  God,  sir,"  said  she  reverently. 

"  But,"  I  added,  "  I  perceive  a  great  number  of 
persons  about  here  of  extreme  age.  Now,  how 
long  generally  do  the  people  in  this  country  live?" 

"  Troth,  sir,"  said  she,  with  the  figurative  droll- 
ery of  her  country,  "  we  live  here  as  long  as  we 
like." 

"  Well,  that  is  no  inconsiderable  privilege,"  said 
I ;  "  but  you  nevertheless  must  have  married 
very  young?" 


The   White   Trout.  203 

"I  was  not  much  over  sixteeri,  your  honor, 
when  I  had  my  first  child  at  my  breast." 

"  That  was  beginning  early,"  said  I. 

"Thrue  for  you,  sir;  and,  faith,  Noreen  (that's 
my  daughter,  sir) — Noreen  herself  lost  no  time 
either ;  I  suppose  she  thought  she  had  as  good  a 
right  as  the  mother  before  her — she  was  married 
at  seventeen,  and  a  likely  couple  herself  and  her 
husband  was.  So  you  see,  sir,  it  was  not  long  be- 
fore I  was  a  granny.  Well,  to  make  the  saying 
good,  '  As  the  ould  cock  crows,  the  young  bird 
chirrups,'  and,  faiks,  the  whole  breed,  seed,  and 
generation  tuk  after  the  ould  woman  (that's  my- 
self, sir);  and  so,  in  coorse  of  time,  I  was  not  only 
a  granny,  but  a  grate-granny ;  and,  by  the  same 
token,  here  comes  my  darling  Paudeen  Bawn* 
with  what  I  sent  him  for." 

Here  the  fine  fellow  I  have  spoken  of,  with  his 
long,  fair  hair  curling  about  his  shoulders,  de- 
scended into  the  cave,  bearing  some  fagots  of 
bogwood,  a  wisp  of  straw,  and  a  lighted  sod  of  turf. 

"  Now,  your  honor,  it's  what  you'll  see  the 
pigeon-hole  to  advantage." 

"  What  pigeon-hole  ?"  said  I. 

"  Here,  where  we  are,"  she  replied. 

"  Why  is  it  so  called?"  I  inquired. 

"  Because,  sir,  the  wild  pigeons  often  builds  in 
the  bushes  and  the  ivy  that's  round  the  mouth  of 
the  cave,  and  in  here,  too,"  said  she,  pointing  into 
the  gloomy  depth  of  the  interior. 

*    Fair  little  Paddy. 


204  Half  Hours  witfi  Irish  Authors. 

"  Blow  that  turf,  Paudeen."  And  Paudeen,  with 
distended  cheeks  and  compressed  lips,  forthwith 
poured  a  few  vigorous  blasts  on  the  sod  of  turf, 
which  soon  flickered  and  blazed,  while  the  kind 
old  woman  lighted  her  fagots  of  bogwood  at  the 
flame. 

"  Now,  sir,  follow  me,"  said  my  conductress. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  have  had  so  much  trouble  on 
my  account,"  said  I. 

"  Oh  !  no  throuble  in  life,  your  honor,  but  the 
greatest  of  pleasure."  And  so  saying,  she  proceed- 
ed into  the  cave,  and  I  lollowed,  carefully  choosing 
my  steps,  by  the  help  of  her  torch-light,  along  the 
slippery  path  of  rock* that  overhung  the  river. 
When  she  had  reached  a  point  of  some  little  eleva- 
tion, she  held  up  her  lighted  pine  branches,  and, 
waving  them  to  and  fro,  asked  me  could  I  see  the 
top  of  the  cave. 

The  effect  of  her  figure  was  very  fine,  illumined 
as  it  was,  in  the  midst  of  utter  darkness,  by  the 
red  glare  of  the  blazing  fagots ;  and,  as  she  wound 
them  round  her  head,  and  shook  their  flickering 
sparks  about,  it  required  no  extraordinary  sketch 
of  imagination  to  suppose  her,  with  her  ample 
cloak  of  drapery  and  a  few  straggling  tresses  of 
gray  hair  escaping  from  the  folds  of  a  rather 
Eastern  head-dress,  some  sibyl  about  to  com- 
mence an  awful  rite,  and  evoke  her  ministering 
spirits  fron  the  dark  void,  or  call  some  water- 
demon  from  the  river  which  rushed  unseen  along, 
telling  of  its  wild  course  by  the  turbulent  dash  of 


The   White   Trout.  205 

its  waters,  which  the  reverberation  of  the  cave 
rendered  still  more  hollow. 

She  shouted  aloud,  and  the  cavern-echoes  an- 
swered to  her  summons.  "  Look  !"  said  she  ;  and 
she  lighted  the  wisp  of  straw,  and  flung  it  on  the 
stream  ;  it  floated  rapidly  away,  blazing  in  wild 
undulations  over  the  protruded  surface  of  the 
river,  and  at  length  suddenly  disappeared  alto- 
gether. The  effect  was  most  picturesque  and 
startling ;  it  was  even  awful — I  might  almost  say 
sublime. 

Her  light  being  nearly  expired,  we  retrace  our 
steps,  and,  emerging  from  the  gloom,  stood  beside 
the  river,  in  the  enlightened  area  I  have  described. 

"  Now,  sir,"  said  my  old  woman,  "  we  must  thry 
and  see  the  white  throut ;  and  you  never  seen  a 
throut  o'  that  color  yet,  I  warrant." 

I  assented  to  the  truth  of  this. 

"  They  say  it's  a  fairy  throut,  your  honor,  and 
tells  mighty  quare  stories  about  it." 

"  What  are  they  ?"    I  inquired. 

"  Throth  it's  myself  doesn't  know  the  half  o' 
them — only  partly ;  but  sthrive  and  see  it  before 
3Tou  go,  sir,  for  there's  thim  that  says  it  isn't  lucky 
to  come  to  the  cave,  and  lave  it  without  seeing 
the  white  throut;  and,  if  you're  a  bachelor,  and 
didn't  get  a  peep  at  it,  throth  you'd  never  get 
married  ;  and  sure  that  i'd  be  a  marther."* 

"  Oh  !"  said  I,  "-J  hope  the  fairies  would  not  be  so 
spiteful—" 

*  A  great  pity. 


2o6  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"Whist — whist!"  said  she  looking-  fearfully 
around  ;  then  knitting  her  brows,  she  gave  me  an 
admonitory  look,  and  put  her  finger  on  her  lip,  in 
token  of  silence,  and  then,  coming  sufficient!}'  near 
me  to  make  herself  audible  in  a  whisper,  she  said, 
"Never  speak  ill,  your  honor,  of  the  good  people, 
beyant  all  in  sich  a  place  as  this ;  for  it's  in  the 
likes  they  always  keep  ;  and  one  doesn't  know 
who  may  be  listenin'.  God  keep  uz  !  But  look, 
sir,  look  !" — and  she  pointed  to  the  stream — "  there 
she  is." 
•     "Who?  What?"  said  I. 

"  The  throut,  sir." 

I  immediately  perceived  the  fish  in  question, 
perfectly  a  trout  in  shape,  but  in  color  a  creamy 
white,  heading  up  the  stream,  and  seeming  to 
keep  constantly  within  the  region  of  the  enlight- 
ened part  of  it. 

"  There  it  is,  in  that  very  spot  evermore,"  con- 
tinued my  guide,  "  and  never  anywhere  else." 

"The  poor  fish,  I  suppose,  likes  to  swim  in  the 
light,"  said  I. 

"  Oh  !  no,  sir,"  said  she,  shaking  her  head  signi- 
ficantly, "  the  people  here  has  a  mighty  owld  story 
about  that  throut." 

"  Let  me  hear  it,  and  you  will  oblige  me." 

"  Och  !  it's  only  laughin'  at  me  you'd  be,  and  call 
me  an  owld  fool,  as  the  misthiss  beyant  in  the  big 
house  often  did  afore  when  she  -first  kem  among 
us  ;  but  she  knows  the  differ  now." 

"  Indeed,  I  shall  not  laugh  at  your  story,"  said  I, 


The   White   Trout.  207 

"  but,  on  the  contrary,  shall  thank  you  very  much 
for  your  tale." 

"  Then  sit  down  a  minit,  sir,"  said  she,  throwing 
her  apron  upon  the  rock,  and  pointing"  to  the  seat, 
"  and  I'll  tell  you  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge." 
And,  seating  herself  on  an  adjacent  patch  of  ver- 
dure, she  began  her  legend. 

"  There  was  wanst  upon  a  time  long  ago  a 
beautiful  young  lady  that  lived  in  a  castle  up  by 
the  lake  be}Tant,  and  they  say  she  was  promised  to 
the  king's  son,  and  they  wor  to  be  married  ;  when, 
all  of  a  suddint,  he  was  murthered,  the  crathur, 
(  Lord  help  us !),  and  threwn  into  the  lake  abow,* 
and  so,  of  coorse,  he  couldn't  keep  his  promise  to 
the  fair  lady — and  more's  the  pity. 

"  Well,  the  story  goes  that  she  went  out  iv  her 
mind  bekase  av  loosin'  the  king's  son — for  she  was 
tinder-hearted,  God  help  her!  like  the  rest  iv  us 
— and  pined  away  afther  him,  until  at  last  no  one 
about  seen  her,  good  or  bad ;  and  the  story  wint 
that  the  fairies  took  her  away. 

"  Well,  sir,  in  coorse  o'  time,  the  white  throut, 
God  bless  it!  was  seen  in  the  sthrame  beyont ;  and 
sure  the  people  didn't  know  what  to  think  av  the 
crathur,  seein'  as  how  a  white  throut  was  never 
heerd  av  afore  nor  sence  :  and  years  upon  years 
the  throut  was  there,  just  where  you  seen  it  this 
blessed  minit,  longer  nor  I  can  tell — ay,  throth,  and 
beyant  the  memory  o'  th'  ouldest  in  the  village. 

"  At  last  the  people  began  to  think  it  must  be  a 

♦Above. 


208  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

fairy — for  what  else  could  it  be? — and  no  hurt  nor 
harm  was  iver  put  on  the  white  throut,  antil  some 
wicked  sinners  of  sojers  kem  to  these  parts,  and 
laughed  at  all  the  people,  and  gibed  and  jeered 
them  for  thinkin'  o'  the  likes  ;  and  one  o'  them 
in  partic'lar  (bad  luck  to  him  ! — God  forgi'  me 
for  sayin'  it ! )  swore  he'd  catch  the  throut,  and 
ate  it  for  his  dinner — the  blackguard  ! 

"  Well,  what  would  you  think  o'  the  villany  of 
the  sojer?  Sure  enough  he  cotch  the  throut,  and 
away  wid  him  home,  and  puts  an  the  fryin'-pan, 
and  into  it  he  pitches  the  purty  little  thing.  The 
throut  squeeled  all  as  one  as  a  Christian  crather, 
and,  my  dear,  you'd  think  the  sojer  id  split  his 
sides  laughin' — for  he  was  aharden'd  villain — and, 
when  he  thought  one  side  was  done,  he  turns  it 
over  to  fry  the  other ;  and  what  would  you  think, 
but  the  divil  a  taste  of  a  burn  was  an  it  at  all  at  all, 
and  sure  the  sojer  thought  it  was  a  quare  throut 
that  couldn't  be  briled  ;  '  but,'  says  he,  '  I'll  give  it 
another  turn  by-and-by,  little  thinkin'  what  was 
in  store  for  him,  the  haythen. 

"  Well,  when  he  thought  that  side  was  done,  he 
turns  it  again,  and,  lo  and  behould  you,  the  divil 
a  taste  more  done  that  side  was  nor  the  other. 
'  Bad  luck  to  me,'  says  the  sojer,  '  but  that  bates 
the  world,'  says  he  ;  '  but  I'll  thry  you  agin,  my 
darlint,'  says  he, '  as  cunnin'  as  you  think  yourself.' 
And  so,  with  that,  he  turns  it  over  and  over;  but 
the  divil  a  sign  av  the  fire  was  an  the  purty  throut. 
"  Well,'  says  the  desperate  villain — (for  sure,  sir, 


The   White   Trout.  209 

he  was  a  desperate  villain  entirely  ;  he  might  know 
he  was  doing  a  wrong  thing,  seein'  that  all  his  en- 
dayvors  was  no  good) — '  well,'  says  he,  '  my  jolly 
little  throut,  may  be  you're  fried  enough,  though 
you  don't  seem  over  well  dressed  ;  but  you  may 
be  better  than  you  look,  like  a  singed  cat,  and  a 
titbit,  afther  all,'  says  he.  And,  with  that,  he  ups 
with  his  knife  and  fork  to  taste  a  piece  o'  the  throut ; 
but,  my  jew'l !  the  minit  he  put  his  knife  into  the 
fish  there  was  a  murtherin'  screech,  that  you'd 
think  the  life  id  lave  you  if  you  heerd  it,  and  away 
jumps  the  throut  out  av  the  fryin'-pan  into  the 
middle  o'  the  flure;  and  an  the  spot  where  it  fell 
up  riz  a  lovely  lady — the  beautifullest  young 
crathur  that  eyes  ever  seen,  dressed  in  white, 
with  a  band  o'  goold  in  her  hair,  and  a  sthrame  o' 
blood  runnin'  down  her  arm. 

"  '  Look  where  you  cut  me,  you  villain,'  says  she, 
and  she  held  out  her  a-rm  to  him  ;  and,  my  dear, 
he  thought  the  sight  id  lave  his  eyes. 

"  '  Couldn't  you  lave  me  cool  and  comfortable  in 
the  river  where  you  snared  me,  and  not  disturb 
me  in  my  duty  ?'  says  she. 

"  Well,  he  thrimbled  like  a  dog  in  a  wet  sack, 
and  at  last  he  stammered  out  somethin',  and  beg- 
ged for  his  life,  and  ax'd  her  ladyship's  pardin,  and 
said  he  didn't  know  she  was  an  duty,  or  he  was 
too  good  a  soger  not  to  know  betther  nor  to  med- 
dle wid  her. 

"  '  I  ivas  on  duty,  then,'  says  the  lady  ;  '  I  was 
watchin'    for  my  thrue    love   that   is   com  in'    by 


210  Half  Hours  zvitli  Irish  Authors. 

wather  to  me,'  says  she  ;  '  an'  if  he  comes  while  I 
am  away,  an'  that  I  miss  iv  him,  I'll  turn  you  into 
a  pinkeen,*  and  I'll  hunt  you  up  and  down  for 
evermore,  while  grass  grows  or  wather  runs.' 

"  Well,  the  sojer  thought  the  life  id  lave  him  at 
the  thoughts  iv  his  bein'  turned  into  a  pinkeen,  and 
begged  for  marcy ;  and  with  that  says  the  lady, 
'  Renounce  your  evil  coorses,'  says  she,  'you 
villain,  or  you'll  repint  it  too  late ;  be  a  good 
man  for  the  futher,  and  go  to  your  dutyf  reg'lar. 
And  now,'  says  she,  'take  me  back,  and  put  me 
into  the  river  agin  where  you  found  me." 

"  '  Oh !  my  lady,'  says  the  sojer,  '  how  could  I 
have  the  heart  to  drownd  a  beautiful  lady  like 
you?' 

"  But  before  he  could  say  another  word,  the 
lady  was  vanished,  and  there  he  saw  the  little 
throut  an  the  ground.  Well,  he  put  it  an  a  clane 
plate,  and  away  he  run  for  the  bare  life,  for  fear 
her  lover  would  come  while  she  was  awray ;  and 
he  run  and  he  run  ever  till  he  came  to  the  cave 
agin,  and  threw  the  throut  into  the  river.  The 
minit  he  did,  the  wather  was  as  red  as  blood 
for  a  little  while,  by  rayson  av  the  cut,  I  sup- 
pose, until  the  sthrame  washed  the  stain  away ; 
and  to  this  day  there's  a  little  red  mark  an  the 
throut's  side,  where  it  was  cut.J 

"  Well,  sir,  from  that  day  out  the  sojer  was  an 

*  Stickleback. 

t  The  Irish  peasant  calls  his  attendance  at  the  confessional  "  going  to  his 
duty." 

X  The  fish  has  really  a  red  spot  on  its  side. 


The  White  Trout.  211 

althered  man,  and  reformed  his  ways,  and  wint  to 
his  duty  reg'lar  and  fasted  three  times  a  week — 
though  it  was  never  fish  he  tuk  an  fastin'  days,  for, 
afther  the  fright  he  got,  fish  id  never  rest  an  his 
stomach,  God  bless  us !  savin'  your  presence. 
But,  anyhow,  he  was  an  althered  man,  as  I  said 
before ;  and  in  coorse  o'  time  he  left  the  army,  and 
turned  hermit  at  last;  and  they  say  he  used  to 
pray  evermore  for  the  soivl  of 'the  white  throttt." 


William  Carleton, 


THE    DONAGIL* 


CARNMORE,  one  of  those  small  villages  that 
are  to  be  found  in  the  outskirts  of  many  pa- 
rishes in  Ireland,  whose  distinct  boundaries  are 
lost  in  the  contiguous  mountain-wastes,  was  situ- 
ated at  the  foot  of  a  deep  gorge  or  pass,  overhung 
by  two  bleak  hills,  from  the  naked  sides  of  which 
the  storm  swept  over  it,  without  discomposing 
the  peaceful  little  nook  of  cabins  that  stood  below. 

*  In  reference  to  the  precious  reliquary  mentioned  in  the  following  true 
tale,  the  learned  George  Petrie  wrote  in  the  iSth  vol.  of  the  Transactions  of 
the  Royal  Irish  Academy:  , 

"On  these  evidences— and  more  might  probably  be  procured  if  time  had 
allowed— we  may,  I  think,  with  tolerable  certainty,  rest  the  following  con- 
clusions: 

"i.  That  the  Domnach  is  the  identical  reliquary  given  by  St.  Patrick  to 
MacCarthen. 

"2.  As  the  form  of  the  cumdach  indicates  that  it  was  intended  to  receive  a 
book,  and  as  the  relics  are  all  attached  to  the  outer  and  the  least  ancient 
cover,  it  is  manifest  that  the  use  of  the  box  as  a  reliquary  was  not  its  original 
intention.  The  natural  inference,  therefore,  is  that  it  contained  a  manuscript 
which  had  belonged  to  St.  Patrick  ;  and,  as  a  manuscript  copy  of  the  Gospels, 
apparently  of  that  early  age,  is  found  within  it,  there  is  every  reason  to  be- 
lieve it  to  be  that  identical  one  for  which  the  box  was  originally  made,  and 
which  the  Irish  apostle  probably  brought  with  him  on  his  mission  into  this 
country.  It  is,  indeed,  not  merely  possible,  but  even  probable,  that  the  ex- 
istence of  this  manuscript  was  unknown  to  the  monkish  biographers  of  St. 
Patrick  and  St.  MacCarthen,  who  speak  of  the  box  as  a  scrinium,  or  reliquary, 
only.  The  outer  cover  was  evidently  not  made  to  open ;  and  some,  at  least, 
of  the  relics  attached  to  it  were  not  introduced  into  Ireland  before  the  twelfth 
century.  It  will  be  remembered,  also,  that  no  superstition  was  and  is  more 
common,  in  connection  with  the  ancient  cumdachs,  than  the  dread  of  their 
being  opened." 


216  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

About  a  furlong  further  down  were  two  or  three 
farm-houses,  inhabited  by  a  family  named  Cas- 
sidy,  men  of  simple,  inoffensive  manners  and  con- 
siderable wealth.  They  were,  however,  acute 
and  wise  in  their  generation  ;  intelligent  cattle- 
dealers,  on  whom  it  would  have  been  a  matter  of 
some  difficulty  to  impose  an  unsound  horse,  or  a 
cow  older  than  it  was  intimated  by  her  horn- 
rings,  even  when  conscientiously  dressed  up  for 
sale  by  the  ingenious  aid  of  the  file  or  burning- 
iron.  Between  their  houses  and  the  hamlet  rose 
a  conical  pile  of  rocks,  loosely  heaped  together, 
from  which  the  place  took  it's  name  of  Carnmore. 
About  three  years  before  the  time  of  this  story, 
there  came  two  men  with  their  families  to  reside 
in  the  upper  village,  and  the  house  which  they 
chose  as  a  residence  was  one  at  some  distance 
from  those  which  composed  the  little  group  we 
have  just  been  describing.  They  said  their  name 
was  Meehan,  although  the  general  report  went 
that  this  was  not  true,  that  their  name  was  an  as- 
sumed one,  and  that  some  dark  mystery  which 
none  could  penetrate  shrouded  their  history  and 
character.  They  were  certainly  remarkable  men. 
The  elder,  named  Anthony,  was  a  dark,  black- 
browed  person,  stern  in  his  manner,  and  atro- 
ciously cruel  in  his  disposition.  His  form  was 
herculean,  his  bones  strong  and  hard  as  iron,  and 
his  sinews  stood  out  in  undeniable  evidence  of  a 
life  hitherto  spent  in  severe  toil  and  exertion,  to 
bear  which  he  appeared  to  an   amazing   degree 


The  Dona  git.  217 

capable.  His  brother  Denis  was  a  small  man, 
less  savage  and  daring  in  his  character,  and  con- 
sequently more  vacillating  and  cautious  than 
Anthony  ;  for  the  points  in  which  he  resembled 
him  were  superinduced  upon  his  natural  disposi- 
tion by  the  close  connection  that  subsisted  be- 
tween them,  and  by  the  identity  of  their  former 
pursuits  in  life,  which,  beyond  doubt,  had  been 
such  as  could  not  bear  investigation. 

The  old  proverb  of"  Birds  of  a  feather  flock  to- 
gether" is  certainly  a  true  one,  and  in  this  case  it 
was  once  more  verified.  Before  the  arrival  of 
these  men  in  the  village,  there  had  been  two  or 
three  bad  characters  in  the  neighborhood,  whose 
delinquencies  were  pretty  well  known.  With 
these  persons,  the  strangers,  by  that  sympathy 
which  assimilates  with  congenial  good  or  evil, 
soon  became  acquainted ;  and  although  their  in- 
timacy was  as  secret  and  cautious  as  possible, 
still  it  had  been  observed,  and  was  known  ;  for 
they  had  frequently  been  seen  skulking  together 
at  daybreak  or  in  the  dusk  of  evening. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  Meehan  and  his 
brother  did  not  mingle  much  in  the  society  of 
Carnmore.  In  fact,  the  villagers  and  they  mu- 
tually avoided  each  other.  A  mere  return  of  the 
common  phrases  of  salutation  was  generally  the 
most  that  passed  between  them  ;  they  never  en- 
tered into  that  familiarity  which  leads  to  mutual 
intercourse,  and  justifies  one  neighbor  in  freely 
entering  the  cabin  of  another,  to  spend  a  winter's 


218  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

night  or  a  summer's  evening  in  amusing  conver- 
sation. Few  had  ever  been  in  the  house  of  the 
Medians  since  it  became  theirs ;  nor  were  the 
means  of  their  subsistence  known.  They  led  an 
idle  life,  had  no  scarcity  of  food,  were  decently 
clothed,  and  never  wanted  money — circumstan- 
ces which  occasioned  no  small  degree  of  conjec- 
ture in  Carnmore  and  its  vicinity. 

Some  said  they  lived  by  theft ;  others  that  they 
were  coiners;  and  there  were  many  who  imag- 
ined, from  the  diabolical  countenance  of  the 
elder  brother,,  that  he  had  sold  himself  to  the 
devil,  who,  they  affirmed,  set  his  mark  upon  him, 
and  was  his  pa}auaster.  Upon  this  hypothesis, 
several  were  ready  to  prove  that  he  had  neither 
breath  nor  shadow  ;  they  had  seen  him,  they  said, 
standing  under  a  hedge-row  of  elder,  that  unholy 
tree  which  furnished  wood  for  the  cross,  and  on 
which  Judas  hanged  himself;  yet,  although  it  was 
noonday  in  the  month  of  July,  his  person  threw 
out  no  shadow.  Worthy  souls !  because  the  man 
stood  in  the  shade  at  the  time.  But  with  these 
simple  explanations  superstition  had  nothing  to 
do,  although  we  are  bound  in  justice  to  the  reve- 
rend old  lady  to  affirm  that  she  was  kept  exceed- 
ingly busy  in  Carnmore.  If  a  man  had  a  sick 
cow,  she  was  elf-shot;  if  his  child  became  con- 
sumptive, it  had  been  overlooked,  or  received  a 
blast  from  the  fairies ;  if  the  whooping-cough  was 
rife,  all  the  afflicted  children  were  put  three  times 
under  an  ass  ;  or,  when  they  happened  to  have  the 


The  Donagh.  2ig 

"  mumps,"  were  led,  before  sunrise,  to  a  south- 
running  stream,  with  a  halter  hanging  about  their 
necks,  under  an  obligation  of  silence  during  the 
ceremony.  In  short,  there  could  not  possibly  be 
a  more  superstitious  spot  than  that  which  these 
men  of  mystery  had  selected  for  their  residence. 
Another  circumstance  which  caused  the  people 
to  look  upon  them  with  additional  dread  was  their 
neglect  of  Mass  on  Sundays  and  holidays,  though 
they  avowed  themselves  Roman  Catholics.  They 
did  not,  it  is  true,  join  in  the  dances,  drinking- 
matches,  foot-ball,  and  other  sports  with  which 
the  Carnmore  folk  celebrated  the  Lord's  day  ; 
but  they  scrupled  not,  on  the  other  hand,  to 
mend  their  garden  ditch,  or  mould  a  row  of  cab- 
bages on  the  Sabbath — a  circumstance  for  which 
two  or  three  of  the  Carnmore  boys  were  one  Sun- 
day evening,  when  tipsy,  well-nigh  chastising 
them.  Their  usual  manner,  however,  of  spending 
that  day  was  by  sauntering  lazily^  about  the  fields, 
or  stretching  themselves  supinely  on  the  sunny 
side  of  the  hedges,  their  arms  folded  on  their 
bosoms,  and  their  hats  lying  over  their  faces  to 
keep  off  the  sun. 

In  the  meantime,  loss  of  property  was  becom- 
ing quite  common  in  the  neighborhood.  Sheep 
were  stolen  from  the  farmers,  and  cows  and 
horses  from  the  more  extensive  graziers  in  the 
parish.  The  complaints  against  the  authors  of 
these  depredations  were  loud  and  incessant ; 
watches  were  set,  combinations  for  mutual  secur- 


220  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

ity  formed,  and  subscriptions  to  a  considerable 
amount  entered  into,  with  a  hope  of  being  able, 
by  the  temptation  of  a  large  reward,  to  work 
upon  the  weakness  or  cupidity  of  some  accom- 
plice to  betray  the  gang  of  villains  who  infested 
the  neighborhood.  All,  however,  was  in  vain ; 
every  week  brought  some  new  act  of  plunder  to 
light,  perpetrated  upon  such  unsuspecting  per- 
sons as  had  hitherto  escaped  the  notice  of  the 
robbers  ;  but  no  trace  could  be  discovered  of  the 
perpetrators.  Although  theft  had  from  time  to 
time  been  committed  upon  a  small  scale  before  the 
arrival  of  the  Medians  in  the  village,  yet  it  was 
undeniable  that  since  that  period  the  instances 
not  only  multiplied,  but  became  of  a  more  daring 
and  extensive  description.  They  arose  in  a 
gradual  scale,  from  the  hen-roost  to  the  stable  ; 
and  with  such  ability  were  they  planned  and  exe- 
cuted that  the  people,  who  in  every  instance 
identified  Meehan  and  his  brother  with  them,  be- 
gan to  believe  and  hint  that,  in  consequence  of 
their  compact  with  the  devil,  they  had  power  to 
render  themselves  invisible.  Common  fame,  who 
can  best  treat  such  subjects,  took  up  this,  and 
never  laid  it  aside  until,  by 'narrating  several  ex- 
ploits which  Meehan  the  elder  is  said  to  have  per- 
formed in  other  parts  of  the  kingdom,  she  wound 
it  up  by  roundly  informing  the  Carnmorians 
that,  having  been  once  taken  prisoner  for  mur- 
der, he  was  caught  by  the  leg  when  half  through 
a   hedge,  but   that,  being   most  wickedly  deter- 


The  Donagh.  221 

mined  to  save  his  neck,  he  left  the  leg-  with  the 
officer  who  took  him,  shouting  out  that  it  was  a 
new  species  of  leg-bail  ;  and  yet  he  moved  away 
with  surprising  speed,  upon  two  of  as  good  legs 
as  any  man  in  his  majesty's  dominions  might  wish 
to  walk  off  upon,  from  the  insinuating  advances 
of  a  bailiff  or  a  constable. 

The  family  of  the  Medians  consisted  of  their 
wives  and  three  children,  two  boys  and  a  girl; 
the  former  were  the  offspring  of  the  younger 
brother,  and  the  latter  of  Anthoiry.  It  has  been 
observed,  with  truth  and  justice,  that  there  is  no 
man,  how  hardened  and  diabolical  soever  in  his 
natural  temper,  who  does  not  exhibit  to  some 
particular  object  a  peculiar  species  of  affection. 
Such  a  man  was  Anthony  Meehan.  That  sullen 
hatred  which  he  bore  to  human  society,  and  that 
inherent  depravity  of  heart  which  left  the  trail  of 
vice  and  crime  upon  his  footsteps,  were  flung  off 
his  character  when  he  addressed  his  daughter 
Annie.  To  him  her  voice  was  like  music  ;  to  her 
he  was  not  the  reckless  villain,  treacherous  and 
cruel,  which  the  helpless  and  unsuspecting  found 
him,  but  a  parent  kind  and  indulgent  as  ever 
pressed  an  only  and  beloved  daughter  to  his 
bosom.  Annie  was  handsome ;  had  she  been 
born  and  educated  in  an  elevated  rank  in  society, 
she  would  have  been  softened  by  the  polish  and 
luxury  of  life  into  perfect  beauty  ;  she  was,  how- 
ever, utterly  without  education.  As  Annie  ex- 
perienced from  her  father  no  unnatural  cruelty, 


222  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

no  harshness,  nor  even  indifference,  she  conse- 
quently loved  him  in  return  ;  for  she  knew  that 
tenderness  from  such  a  man  was  a  proof  of  paren- 
tal love  rarely  to  be  found  in  life.  Perhaps  she 
loved  not  her  father  the  less  on  perceiving  that 
he  was  proscribed  by  the  world — a  circumstance 
which  might  also  have  enhanced  in  his  eyes  the 
affection  she  bore  him.  When  Meehan  came  to 
Carnmore,  she  was  sixteen ;  and,  as  that  was 
three  years  before  the  incident  occurred  on  which 
we  have  founded  this  narrative,  the  reader  may 
now  suppose  her  to  be  about  nineteen  ;  an  inter- 
esting country  girl  as  to  person,  but  with  a  mind 
completely  neglected,  }Tet  remarkable  for  an  un- 
common stock  of  good-nature  and  credulity. 

About  the  hour  of  eleven  o'clock  one  winter's 
night  in  the  beginning  of  December,  Meehan  and 
his  brother  sat  moodily  at  their  hearth.  The  fire 
was  of  peat  which  had  recently  been  put  down, 
and  from  between  the  turf  the  ruddy  blaze  was 
shooting  out  in  those  little  tongues  and  gusts  of 
sober  light  which  throw  around  the  rural  hearth 
one  of  those  charms  which  make  up  the  felicity  of 
domestic  life.  The  night  was  stormy,  and  the 
wind  moaned  and  howled  along  the  dark  hills  be- 
neath which  the  cottage  stood.  Every  object  in 
the  house  was  shrouded  in  a  mellow  shade  which 
afforded  to  the  eye  no  clear  outline,  except  around 
the  hearth  alone,  where  the  light  brightened  into 
a  golden  hue,  giving  the  idea  of  calmness  and 
peace.     Anthony    Meehan  sat  on  one  side  of  it, 


The  Donagh.  223 

and  his  daughter  opposite  him  knitting;  before 
the  fire  sat  Denis,  drawing  shapes  in  the  ashes  for 
his  own  amusement. 

"  Bless  me  !  "  said  he,  "  how  sthrange  it  is  !" 

"  What  is?  "  inquired  Anthony,  in  his  deep  and 
grating  tones. 

"Why,  thin,  it  is  sthrange!"  continued  the 
other,  who,  despite  of  the  severity  of  his  brother, 
was  remarkably  superstitious.  "  A  coffin  I  made 
in  the  ashes  three  times  runnin'  !  Isn't  it  very 
quare,  Annie  ?  "  he  added,  addressing  the  niece. 

"  Sthrange  enough,  of  a  sartinty,"  she  replied, 
being  unwilling  to  express  before  her  father  the 
alarm  which  the  incident,  slight  as  it  was,  created 
in  her  mind ;  for  she,  like  her  uncle,  was  subject 
to  such  ridiculous  influences.  "  How  did  it  hap- 
pen, uncle  ?" 

"  Why,  thin,  no  way  in  life,  Anne ;  only,  as  I 
was  thryin'  to  make  a  shoe,  it  turned  out  a  coffin 
on  my  hands.  I  thin  smoothed  the  ashes,  and 
began  agin,  an'  sorra  bit  of  it  but  was  a  coffin 
still.  Well,  says  I,  I'll  give  you  another  chance — 
here  goes  once  more — an',  as  sure  as  gun's  iron, 
it  was  a  coffin  the  third  time.  Heaven  be  about 
us,  it's  odd  enough  !'' 

"  It  would  be  little  matther  you  were  nailed 
down  in  a  coffin,"  replied  Anthony  fiercely  ;  "  the 
world  would  have  little  loss.  What  a  pitiful,  cow- 
ardly rascal  you  are  !  Afraid  o'  your  own  shad- 
ow afther  the  sun  goes  down,  except  I'm  at  your 
elbow  !     Can't  you  dhrive  all  them  palavers  out  o' 


224  Half  Hours  witJi  Irish  Authors. 

your  head  ?  Didn't  the  sargint  tell  us  an'  prove 
to  us  the  time  we  broke  the  guard-house  an'  took 
Frinch  lave  o'  the  ridgment  for  good  that  the 
whole  o'  that,  an'  more  along  wid  it,  is  all  priest- 
craft?" 

"  I  remimber  he  did,  sure  enough.  I  dunna  where 
the  same  sargint  is  now,  Tony.  About  no  good, 
anyway,  I'll  be  bail.  Howsomever,  in  regard  o' 
that,  why  doesn't  yourself  give  up  fastin'  from  the 
mate  of  a  Friday  ?" 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  sthretch  you  on  the 
hearth  ?"  replied  the  savage,  whilst  his  eyes  kind- 
led into  fury,  and  his  grim  visage  darkened  into  a 
satanic  expression.  "  I'll  tache  you  to  be  puttin' 
me  through  my  catechiz  about  atin'  mate.  I  may 
manage  that  as  I  plase ;  it  comes  at  first-cost,  any- 
how ;  but  no  cross-questions  to  me  about  it,  if  you 
regard  your  health  !' 

"  I  must  say  for  you,"  replied  Denis  reproach- 
fully, "  that  you're  a  good  warrant  to  put  the 
health  astray  upon  us  of  an  odd  start ;  we're  not 
come  to  this  time  o*  day  widout  carryin'  somethin' 
to  remimber  you  by.  For  my  own  part,  Tony,  I 
don't  like  such  tokens;  an',  moreover,  I  wish  you 
had  resaved  a  thrifle  o'  larnin',  espishily  in  the 
writin'  line  ;  for,  whenever  we  have  any  difference, 
you're  so  ready  to  prove  your  opinion  by  settin' 
your  mark  upon  me  that  I'd  rather,  fifty  times 
over,  you  could  write  it  with  pen  an'  ink." 

"  My  father  will  give  that  up,  uncle,"  said  the 
niece;  "it's  bad    for  anybody  to  be  fightin',  but 


Tke  Donagh.  225 

worst  of  all  for  brothers  that  ought  to  live  in 
peace  and  kindness.     Won't  you,  father?" 

"  May  be  I  will,  dear,  some  o'  these  days,  on 
your  account,  Anne;  but  you  must  get  this 
creature  of  an  uncle  of  yours  to  let  me  alone,  an' 
not  be  aggravatin'  me  with  his  folly.  As  for  your 
mother,  she's  worse ;  her  tongue's  sharp  enough 
to  skin  a  flint,  and  a  batin'  a  day  has  little  effect 
on  her." 

Anne  sighed,  for  she  knew  how  low  an  irreli- 
gious life,  and  the  infamous  society  with  which,-  as 
her  father's  wife,  her  mother  was  compelled  to 
mingle,  had  degraded  her. 

"  Well,  but,  father,  you  don't  set  her  a  good 
example  yourself,"  said  Anne;  "and,  if  she 
scoulds  and  drinks  now,  you  know  she  was  a 
different  woman  when  you  got  her.  You  allow 
this  yourself;  and  the  crathur,  the  dhrunkest 
time  she  is,  doesn't  she  cry  bittherly,  remimberin 
what  she  has  been?  Instead  of  one  ba^in'  a  day, 
father,  thry  no  batin'  a  day,  an'  may  be  it  'ill  turn 
out  betther  than  thumpin'  an'  smashin'  her  as  you 
do." 

"  Why,  thin,  there's  truth  an'  sinse  in  what  the 
girl  says,  Ton}-,"  observed  Denis. 

"  Come,"  replied  Anthony,  "  whatever  she  may 
say,  I'll  suffer  none  of  yonr  interference.  Go  an' 
get  us  the  black  bottle  from  the  place ;  it'll  soon 
be  time  to  move.  I  hope  they  wron't  stay  too 
long." 

Denis  obeyed  this  command  with  great  readi 


226  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

ness,  for  whiskey  in  some  degree  blunted  the 
fierce  passions  of  his  brother,  and  deadened 
his  cruelty  ;  or  rather  diverted  it  from  minor 
objects  to  those  which  occurred  in  the  lawless 
perpetration  of  his  villany. 

Xhe  bottle  was  got,  and  in  the  meantime  the 
fire  blazed  up  brightly  ;  the  storm  without,  how- 
ever, did  not  abate,  nor  did  Meehan  and  his 
brother  wish  that  it  should.  As  the  elder  of 
them  took  the  glass  from  the  hands  of  the  other, 
an  air  of  savage  pleasure  blazed  in  his  eyes,  on 
reflecting  that  the  tempest  of  the  night  was  favor- 
able to  the  execution  of  the  villanous  deed  on 
which  they  were  bent. 

"  More  power  to  you  !"  said  Anthony,  impious- 
ly personifying  the  storm.  "  Sure  that's  one  proof 
that  God  doesn't  throuble  his  head  about  what  we 
do,  or  we  would  not  get  such  a  murdherin'  fine 
night  as  is  in  it,  anyhow.  That's  it!  blow  an' 
tundher  away,  an'  keep  )7ourself  an'  us  as  black 
as  hell,  sooner  than  we  should  fail  in  what  we  in- 
tend !  Anne,  your  health,  acushla.  Yours,  Dinny  ! 
If  you  keep  your  tongue  off  o'  me,  I'll  neither  make 
nor  meddle  in  regard  o'  the  batin'  o'  }7ou." 

"  I  hope  you'll  stick  to  that,  anyhow,"  replied 
Denis;  "for  my  part  I'm  sick  and  sore  o'  you 
every  day  in  the  year.  Many  another  man  would 
put  salt  wather  between  himself  and  yourself, 
sooner  nor  become  a  battin'-stone  for  you,  as  1 
have  been.  Few  would  bear  it  when  they  could 
mend  themselves." 


The  Donagh.  227 

"  What's  that  you  say  ?"  replied  Anthony,  sud- 
denly laying  down  his  glass,  catching  his  brother 
by  the  collar,  and  looking  him  with  a  murderous 
scowl  in  the  face.  "  Is  it  thrachery  you  hint  at, 
eh  ?  Sarpent,  is  it  thrachery  you  mane  ?"  And,  as 
he  spoke,  he  compressed  Denis's  neck  between 
his  powerful  hands  until  the  other  was  black  in 
the  face. 

Anne  flew  to  her  uncle's  assistance,  and  with 
much  difficulty  succeeded  in  rescuing  him  from 
the  deadly  grip  of  her  father,  who  exclaimed,  as 
he  loosed  his  hold,  "  You  may  thank  the  girl,  or 
you'd  not  spake  nor  dare  to  spake  about  crossin' 
the  salt  wather  or  lavin'  me  in  a  desateful  way 
agin.  If  I  ever  suspect  that  a  thought  of  thrach- 
ery comes  into  your  heart,  I'll  do  for  you;  and 
you  may-  cany  your  story  to  the  world  I'll  send 
you  to." 

"  Father,  dear,  why  are  yrou  so  suspicious  of  myr 
uncle?"  said  Anne;  "sure  he's  a  longtime  livin' 
with  )tou,  an'  goin'  step  for  step  in  all  the  danger 
you  meet  with.  If  he  had  a  mind  to  turn  out  a  Judas 
agin  you,  he  might  a  done  it  long  agone ;  not  to 
mintion  the  throuble  it  would  bring  on  his  own 
head,  seen'  he's  as  deep  in  everything  as  yrou  are." 

"  If  that's  all  that's  throubling  you,"  replied 
Denis,  trembling,  "y-ou  may  make  yourself  asy  on 
the  head  of  it ;  but  well  I  know  'tisn't  that  that's 
on  your  mind  ;  'tis  your  own  conscience  ;  but  sure 
it's  not  fair  nor  rasonable  for  you  to  vent  your 
evil  thoughts  on  me  !" 


228  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"Well,  he  won't,"  said  Anne;  "  he'll  quit  it;  his 
mind's  throubled  ;  an',  dear  knows,  it's  no  wondher 
it  should.  Och  !  I'd  give  the  world  wide  that  his 
conscience  was  lightened  of  the  load  that's  upon 
it!  My  mother's  lameness  is  nothin';  but  the 
child,  poor  thing !  An'  it  was  only  widin  three 
days  of  her  lyin'-in.  Och  !  it  was  a  cruel  sthroke, 
father!  An'  when  I  seen  its  little  innocent  face 
dead,  an'  me  widout  a  brother,  I  thought  my 
heart  would  break,  thinkin'  upon  who  did  it!" 
The  tears  fell  in  showers  from  her  eyes,  as  she 
added,  "  Father,  I  don't  want  to  vex  you  ;  but 
I  wish  you  to  feel  sorrow  for  that,  at  laste.  Oh !  if 
you'd  bring  the  priest,  an'  .give  up  sich  coorses, 
father  dear,  how  happy  we'd  be,  an'  how  happy 
yourself  'ud  be !" 

Conscience  for  a  moment  started  from  her  sleep, 
and  uttered  a  cry  of  guilt  in  his  spirit;  his  face 
became  ghastly;  and  his  eyes  full  of  horror  ;  his 
lips  quivered,  and  he  was  about  to  upbraid  his 
daughter  with  more  harshness  than  usual,  when  a 
low  whistle,  resembling  that  of  a  curlew,  was 
heard  at  a  chink  of  the  door.  In  a  moment  he 
gulped  down  another  glass  of  spirits,  and  was  on 
his  feet.  "  Go,  Denis,  an'  get  the  arms,"  said  he 
to  his  brother,  "  while  I  let  them  in." 

On  opening  the  door,  three  men  entered,  hav- 
ing their  great-coats  muffled  about  them,  and 
their  hats  slouched.  One  of  them  named  Kenny 
was  a  short  villain,  but  of  a  thick-set,  hairy  frame. 
The  other  was  known  as  the  "  Big  Mower,"  in  con- 


The  Donagli.  229 

sequence  of  his  following  that  employment  every 
season,  and  of  his  great  skill  in  performing  it.  He 
had  a  deep-rooted  objection  against  permitting 
the  palm  of  his  hand  to  be  seen — a  reluctance 
which  common  fame  attributed  to  the  fact  of  his 
having  received  on  that  part  the  impress  of  a  hot 
iron,  in  the  shape  of  the  letter  T,  not  forgetting 
to  add  that  T  was  the  hieroglyphic  for  Thief. 
The  villain  himself  affirmed  it  was  simply  the 
mark  of  a  cross,  burned  into  it  by  a  blessed  friar,  as 
a  charm  against  St.  Vitus's  dance,  to  which  he  had 
once  been  subject.  The  people,  however,  were 
rather  sceptical,  not  of  the  friar's  power  to  cure 
that  malady,  but  of  the  fact  of  his  ever  having 
moved  a  limb  under  it ;  and  they  concluded  with 
telling  him,  good-humoredly  enough,  that,  not- 
withstanding the  charm,  he  was  destined  to  die 
"  wid  the  threble  of  it  in  his  toe."  The  third  was 
a  noted  pedlar  called  Martin,  who,  under  pretence 
of  selling  tape,  pins,  scissors,  etc.,  was  very  useful 
in  setting  such  premises  as  this  virtuous  fraternity 
might,  without  much  risk,  make  a  descent  upon. 

"  I  thought  yez  would  outstay  your  time,"  said 
the  elder  Meehan,  relapsing  into  his  determined 
hardihood  of  character.  "  We're  ready  hours 
a-gone.  Dick  Rice  gave  me  two  curlew  an'  two 
patrich  calls  to-day.  Now  pass  the  glass  among 
yez,  while  Denny  brings  the  arms.  I  know  there's 
danger  in  this  business,  in  regard  of  the  Cassidys 
livin'  so  near  us.  If  I  see  anybody  afut,  I'll  use 
the  curlew  call ;  an',  if  not,  I'll  whistle  twice  on 


230  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

the  patrich  *  one,  an'  ye  may  come  an.  The  horse 
is  worth  eight)7  guineas,  if  he's  worth  a  shillin' ; 
an'  we'll  make  sixty  of  him  ourselves."' 

For  some  time  they  chatted  about  the  plan  in 
contemplation,  and  drank  freely  of  the  spirits,  un- 
til at  length  the  impatience  of  the  elder  Meehan 
at  the  delay  of  his  brother  became  ungovernable. 
His  voice  deepened  into  tones  of  savage  passion 
as  he  uttered  a  series  of  blasphemous  curses 
against  this  unfortunate  butt  of  his  indignation  and 
malignity.  At  length  he  rushed  out  furiously  to 
know  why  he  did  not  return  ;  but,  on  reaching  a 
secret  excavation  in  the  mound  against  which  the 
house  was  built,  he  found-,  to  his  utter  dismay, 
that  Denis  had  made  his  escape  by  an  artificial 
passage  scooped  out  of  it  to  secure  themselves  a 
retreat  in  case  of  surprise  or  detection.  It  opened 
behind  the  house  among  a  clump  of  blackthorn 
and  brushwood,  and  was  covered  with  green  turf 
in.  such  a  manner  as  to  escape  the  notice  of  all 
who  were  not  acquainted  with  the  secret.  Mee- 
han's  face  on  his  return  was  worked  up  into  an 
expression  truly  awful. 

"  We're  sould  !  "  said  he.  "  But  stop,  I'll  tache 
the  thraithur  what  revinge  is  !  " 

In  a  moment  he  awoke  his  brother's  two  sons, 
and  dragged  them  by  the  neck,  one  in  each  hand, 
to  the  hearth. 

"  Your  villain  of  a  father's  off,"  said  he,  "  to  be- 
tray us ;  go   an'  folly  him  ;  bring  him  back,  an' 

*  Partridge. 


The  Donagh.  231 

he'll  be  safe  from  me  ;  but  let  him  become  a  stag 
agin  us,  and,  if  I  should  hunt  you  both  into  the 
bowels  of  the  airth,  I'll  send  yez  to  a  short  ac- 
count. I  don't  care  that" — and  he  snapped  his 
fingers — "  ha  !  ha  ! — no,  I  don't  care  that  for  the 
law;  I  know  how  to  dale  with  it  when  it  comes! 
An'  what's  the  stuff  about  the  other  world  but 
priestcraft  and  lies  ?" 

"  May  be,"  said  the  Big  Mower,  "  Denis  is  gone 
to  get  the  fore  way  of  us,  an'  to  take  the  horse 
himself.  Our  best  plan  is  to  lose  no  time,  at  all 
events  ;  so  let  us  hurry,  for  fraid  the  night  might 
happen  to  clear  up." 

"  He  !  "  said  Meehan,  "  he  go  alone  !  No  ;  the 
miserable  wretch  is  afeard  of  his  own  shadow.  I 
only  wondher  he  stuck  to  me  so  long  ;  but  sure 
he  wouldn't,  only  I  bate  the  courage  in  and  the 
fear  out  of  him.  You're  right,  Brian,"  said  he, 
upon  reflection,  "let  us  lose  no  time,  but  be  off. 
Do  ye  mind?  "he  added  to  his  nephews.  "Did 
ye  hear  me  ?  If  you  see  him,  let  him  come  back, 
an'  all  will  be  berrid  ;  but,  if  he  doesn't,  you  know 
your  fate  !  "  saying  which,  he  and  his  accomplices 
departed  amid  the  howling  of  the  storm. 

The  next  morning,  Carnmore,  and  indeed  the 
whole  parish,  was  in  an  uproar;  a  horse  worth 
eighty  guineas  had  been  stolen  in  the  most  dar- 
ing manner  from  the  Cassidys,  and  the  hue-and- 
cry  was  up  after  the  thief  or  thieves  who  took 
him.  For  several  days  the  search  was  closely 
maintained,  but  without  success;  not  the  slight- 


232  Half  Hours  with  IrisJi  Authors. 

est  trace  could  be  found  of  him  or  them.  The 
Cassidys  could  very  well  bear  to  lose  him  ;  but 
there  were  many  struggling  farmers,  on  whose 
property  serious  depradations  had  been  commit- 
ted, who  could  not  sustain  their  loss  so  easily.  It 
was  natural  under  these  circumstances  that  sus- 
picion should  attach  to  many  persons,  some  of 
whom  had  but  indifferent  characters  before,  as 
well  as  to  several  who  certainly  had  never  de- 
served suspicion.  When  a  fortnight  or  so  had 
elapsed,  and  no  circumstances  transpired  that 
might  lead  to  discovery,  the  neighbors,  including 
those  who  had  principally  suffered  by  the  robber- 
ies, determined  to  assemble  on  a  certain  day  at 
Cassidy's  house,  for  the  purpose  of  clearing  them- 
selves, on  oath,  of  the  imputations  thrown  out 
against  some  of  them,  as  accomplices  in  the  thefts. 
In  order,  however,  that  the  ceremony  should  be 
performed  as  solemnly  as  possible,  they  deter- 
mined to  send  for  Father  Farrell  and  Mr.  Nichol- 
son, a  magistrate,  both  of  whom  they  requested 
to  undertake  the  task  of  jointly  presiding  upon 
this  occasion ;  and,  that  the  circumstance  should 
have  every  publicity,  it  was  announced  from  the 
altar  by  the  priest,  on  the  preceding  Sabbath, 
and  published  on  the  church- gate  in  large  legible 
characters,  ingeniously  printed  with  a  pen  by  the 
village  schoolmaster. 

In  fact,  the  intended  meeting,  and  the  object  of 
it,  were  already  notorious  ;  and  much  conversa- 
tion was  held   upon   its  probable  result  and  the 


The  Donagh.  233 

measures  which  might  be  taken  against  those  who 
refused  to  swear.  Of  the  latter  description  there 
was  but  one  opinion,  which  was  that  their  refusal 
in  such  a  case  would  be  tantamount  to  guilt.  The 
innocent  were  anxious  to  vindicate  themselves 
from  suspicion ;  and,  as  the  suspected  did  not 
amount  to  more  than  a  dozen,  of  course  the  whole 
body  of  the  people,  including  the  thieves  them- 
selves, who  applauded  it  as  loudly  as  the  others, 
all  expressed  their  satisfaction  at  the  measures 
about  to  be  adopted.  A  day  was  therefore  ap- 
pointed, on  which  the  inhabitants  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, particularly  the  suspected  persons,  should 
come  to  assemble  at  Cassidy's  house  in  order  to 
have  the  characters  of  the  innocent  cleared  up, 
and  the  guilty,  if  possible,  made  known. 

On  the  evening  before  this  took  place  were  as- 
sembled in  Median's  cottage  the  elder  Meehan 
and  the  rest  of  the  gang,  including  Denis,  who 
had  absconded  on  the  night  of  the  theft. 

"  Well,  well,  Denny,"  said  Anthony,  who  forced 
his  rugged  nature  into  an  appearance  of  better 
temper,  that  he  might  strengthen  the  timid  spirit 
of  his  brother  against  the  scrutiny  about  to  take 
place  on  the  morrow — perhaps  too,  he  dreaded 
him — "  Well,  well,  Denny,  I  thought  sure  enough 
that  it  was  some  new  piece  of  cowardice  came 
over  you.  Just  think  of  him,"  he  added,  "shab- 
bin'  off,  only  because  he  made  with  a  bit  of  a  rod 
three  strokes  in  the  ashes  that  he  thought  resem- 
bled a  coffin  ! — ha !  ha !  ha !  " 


234  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

This  produced  a  peal  of  derision  at  Denis's  pu- 
sillanimous terror. 

"  Ay,"  said  the  Big  Mower,  "  he  was  makin'  a 
coffin,  was  he  ?  I  won d her  it  wasn't  a  rope  you 
drew,  Denny.  If  any  one  dies  in  the  coil,  it  will 
be  the  greatest  coward,  an'  that's  yourself." 

"You  may  all  laugh,"  replied  Denis,  "but  I 
know  such  things  to  have  a  manin'.  When  my 
mother  died,  didn't  my  father — the  heaven's  be  his 
bed ! — see  a  black  coach  about  a  week  before  it  ? 
An'  sure  from  the  first  day  she  tuck  ill  the  dead- 
watch  was  heard  in  the  house  every  night ;  and 
what  was  more  nor  that,  she  kept  warm  until  she 
went  into  her  grave  ;*  an','  accordingly,  didn't  my 
sister  Shibby  die  within  a  year  afther  ?  " 

"  It's  no  matther  about  thim  things,"  replied 
Anthony  ;  "  it's  thruth  about  the  dead-Watch,  my 
mother  keepin'  warm,  an'  Shibby's  death,  any- 
way. But  on  the  night  we  tuk  Cassidy's  horse,  I 
thought  you  were  goin'  to  betray  us;  I  was 
surely  in  a  murdherin'  passion,  an'  would  have 
done  harm,  only  things  turned  out  as  they  did." 

"Why,"  said  Denis,  "the  thruth  is  I  was 
afeard  some  of  us  would  be  shot,  an'  that  the  lot 
would  fall  on  myself;  for  the  coffin,  thinks  I, 
was  sent  as  a  warnin'.  How-and-ever,  I  spied 
about  Cassidy's  stable  till  I  'Seen  that  the  coast 
was  clear;  so,  when  I  heard  the  low  cry  of  the 

*  It  is  supposed  in  Ireland  when  a  corpse  retains,  for  a  longer  space  of  time 
than  usual,  anything  like  animal  heat,  that  some  person  belonging  to  the  fam- 
ily of  the  deceased  will  die  within  a  year. 


The  Donagh.  235 

Patrick  that  Anthony  and  I  agreed  on,  I  joined 
yez." 

"  Well,  about  to-morrow,"  observed  Kenny — 
"ha!  ha!  ha! — there'll  be  lots  o' swearin'.  Why, 
the  whole  parish  is  to  switch  the  primer  ;  many  a 
thumb  and  coat-cuff  will  be  kissed  in  spite  of 
priest  or  magistrate.  I  remimber  once,  when  I 
was  swearin'  an  alibi  ior  long  Paddy  Murray,  that 
suffered  for  the  M'Gee's,  I  kissed  my  thumb,  I 
thought,  so  smoothly  that  no  one  would  notice 
it ;  but  I  had  a  keen  one  to  dale  with  ;  so  says  he, 
'  You  know,  for  the  matther  o'  that,  my  good  fel- 
low, that  you  have  your  thumb  to  kiss  every  day 
in  the  week,'  says  he,  '  but  you  might  salute  the 
book  out  o'  dacency  and  good  manners  ;  not,'  says 
he,  '  that  you  an'  it  are  strangers,  aither ;  for,  if  I 
don't  mistake,  you're  an  ould  hand  at  swearin* 
alibis.' 

"  At  all  evints,  I  had  to  smack  the  book  itself, 
v 
and  it's  I,  and  Barney  Green,  and  Tim  Casserly 

that  did  swear  stiffly   for   Paddy,   but  the  thing 

was  too  clear  agin   him.     So    he   suffered,  poor 

fellow,  an'  died  right  game,  for  he  said  over  his 

dJirop — ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! — that  he  was  as  innocent  o'  the 

murder  as  a  child  unborn  ;  an'  s5  he  was  in  one 

sinse,  bein'  afther  gettin'  absolution." 

"  As  to  thumb-kissin',"  observed  the  elder  Mee- 

han,  "  let  there  be  none  of  it  among  us  to-morrow  ; 

if  we're  caught  at  it,  'twould  be  as  bad  as  stayin' 

away  altogether  ;  for  my  part,  Pll  give  it  a  smack 

like  a  pistol  shot — ha !  ha  !  ha  !  " 


236  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Aut/iors. 

"  I  hope  they  won't  bring  the  priest's  book," 
said  Denis.  "  I  haven't  the  laste  objection  agin 
payin'  my  respects  to  the  magistrate  s  paper,  but 
somehow  I  don't  like  tastin'  the  priest's  in  a 
falsity." 

"  Don't  you  know,"  said  the  Big  Mower,  "  that, 
whin  a  magistrate's  present,  it's  ever  an'  always 
only  the  Tistament  by  law  that's  used  ?  I  myself 
wouldn't  kiss  the  Mass-book  in  a  falsity." 

"  There's  none  of  us  sayin'  we'd  do  it  in  a  lie," 
said  the  elder  Meehan ;  "  an'  it's  well  for  thou- 
sands that  the  law  doesn't  use  the  priest's  book ; 
though,  afther  all,  aren't  there  books  that  say  re- 
ligion's all  a  sham  ?  I  think  myself  it  is  ;  for,  if 
what  they  talk  about  justice  an'  Providence  is 
thrue,  would  Tom  Dillon  be  transported  for  the 
robbery  we  committed  at  Bantry  ?  Tom,  it's 
true,  was  an  ould  offender ;  but  he  was  innocent 
of  that,  anyway.  The  world's  all  chance,  boys, 
as  Sargint  Eustace  used  to  say,  and  whin  we  die 
there's  no  more  about  us;  so  that  I  don't  see  why 
a  man  mightn't  as  well  switch  the  priest's  book  as 
any  other,  only  that  somehow  a  body  can't  shake 
the  terror  of  it  off  o'  them." 

"  I  dunna,  Anthony,  but  you  an'  1  ought  to 
curse  that  sargint ;  only  for  him  we  mightn't  be 
as  we  are,  sore  in  our  conscience,  and  afeard  of 
every  fut  we  hear  passin',"  observed  Denis. 

"  Spake  for  your  own  cowardly  heart,  man 
alive  !"  replied  Anthony  ;  "  for  my  part,  I'm  afeard 
o'   nothin'.     Put  round   the    glass,  and    don't   be 


The  Donagh.  237 

nursin'  it  there  all  night.  Sure  we're  not  so  bad 
as  the  rot  among  the  sheep,  nor  the  blackleg 
among  the  bullocks,  nor  the  staggers  among  the 
horses,  anyhow  ;  an'  yet  they'd  hang  us  up  only 
for  bein'  fond  o'  a  bit  o'  mate — ha !  ha  !  ha  !  " 

"  Thrue  enough,"  said  the  Big  Mower,  philoso- 
phizing ;  "  God  made  the  beef  and  the  mutton,  and 
the  grass  to  feed  it ;  but  it  was  man  made  the 
ditches  ;  now  we're  only  bringin'  things  back  to 
the  right  way  that  Providence  made  them  in 
when  ould  times  were  in  it,  manin'  before  ditches 
war  invinted — ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  " 

"  'Tis  a  good  argument,"  observed  Kenny, 
"only  that  judge  and  jury  would  be  a  little  deli- 
cate in  actin'  up  to  it ;  an'  the  more's  the  pity. 
Howsomever,  as  Providence  made  the  mutton, 
sure  it's  not  harm  for  us  to  take  what  he  sends." 

"  Ay,  but,"  said  Denis — 

'God  made  man,  an'  man  made  money  ; 
God  made  bees,  and  bees  made  honey; 
God  made  Satan,  an'  Satan  made  sin  ; 
An'  God  made  a  hell  to  put  Satan  in.' 

Let  nobody  say  there's  not  a  hell ;  isn't  there  it 
plain  from  Scripthur  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  had  the  Scripthur  tied  about  your 
neck  !  "  replied  Anthony.  "  How  fond  o'  it  one 
o'  the  greatest  thieves  that  ever  missed  the  rope 
is !  Why,  the  fellow  could  plan  a  roguery  with 
any  man  that  ever  danced  the  hangman's  horn- 
pipe, and  yet  he  be's  repatin'  bits  an'  scraps  of 
ould  prayers,  an'  charms,  an  stuff.     Ay,  indeed  ! 


238  Half  Hoars  with  Irish  Authors. 

Shure  he  has  a  varse  out  o'  the  Bible  that  he 
thinks  can  prevent  a  man  from  bein'  hung  up  any- 
day  !" 

While  Denny,  the  Big-  Mower,  and  the  two 
Medians  were  thus  engaged  in  giving  expression 
to  their  peculiar  opinions,  the  pedlar  held  a  con- 
versation of  a  different  kind  with  Anne. 

With  the  secrets  of  the  family  in  his  keeping, 
he  commenced  a  rather  penitent  review  of  his 
own  life,  and  expressed  his  intention  of  abandon- 
ing so  dangerous  a  mode  of  accumulating  wealth. 
He  said  that  he  thanked  Heaven  he  had  already 
laid  up  sufficient  for  the  wants  of  a  reasonable 
man  ;  that  he  understood  farming  and  the  man- 
agement of  sheep  particularly  well  ;  that  it  was  his 
intention  to  remove  to  a  different  part  of  the  king- 
dom, and  take  a  farm  ;  and  that  nothing  prevented 
him  from  having  done  this  before,  but  the  want 
of  a  helpmate  to  take  care  of  his  establishment; 
he  added  that  his  present  wife  was  of  an  intolera- 
ble temper,  and  a  greater  villain  by  fifty  degrees 
than  himself.  He  concluded  by  saying  that  his 
conscience  twitched  him  night  and  day  for  living 
with  her,  and  that  by  abandoning  her  immedi- 
ately, becoming  truly  religious,  and  taking  Anne 
in  her  place,  he  hoped,  he  said,  to  atone  in  some 
measure  for  his  former  errors. 

Anthony,  however,  having  noticed  the  earnest- 
ness which  marked  the  pedlar's  manner,  suspect- 
ed him  of  attempting  to  corrupt  the  principles 
of  his  daughter,  having  forgotten  the  influence 


The  DonagJi.  239 

which  his  own  opinions  were  calculated  to  pro- 
duce upon  her  heart. 

"  Martin,"  said  he,  "  'twould  be  as  well  you  ped 
attention  to  what  we're  sayin'  in  regard  o'  the 
thrial  to-morrow,  as  to  be  palaverin'  talk  into  the 
girl's  ear  that  can't  be  good  comin'  from  your  lips. 
Quit  it,  I  say,  quit  it!  Corp  an  duowol* — I  won't 
allow  such  proceeding  !  " 

"  Swear  till  you  blister  your  lips,  Anthony," 
replied  Martin  ;  "  as  for  me,  bein'  no  residenthur, 
I'm  not  bound  to  it ;  an'  what's  more,  I'm  not 
suspected.  'Tis  settin'  some  other  bit  o'  work  for 
yez  I'll  be,  while  you're  all  clearin'  yourselves 
from  stealin'  honest  Cassidy's  horse.  I  wish  we 
had  him  safely  disposed  of  in  the  mane  time,  an' 
the  money  for  him  an'  the  other  beasts  in  our 
pockets." 

Much  more  conversation  of  a  similar  kind  passed 
between  them  upon  various  topics  connected  with 
their  profligacy  and  crimes.  At  length  they  sep- 
arated for  the  night,  after  having  concerted  their 
plan  of  action  for  the  ensuing  scrutiny. 

The  next  morning,  before  the  hour  appointed 
arrived,  the  parish,  particularly  the  neighborhood 
of  Carnmore,  was  struck  with  deep  consternation. 
Labor  became  suspended,  mirth  disappeared, 
and  every  face  was  marked  with  paleness,  anxiety, 
and  apprehension.  If  two  men  met,  one  shook 
his  head  mysteriously,  and  inquired  from  the  oth- 
er, "  Did  you  hear  the  news  ?  " 

*  My  body  to  Satan.  > 


240  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"  Ay!  ay!  the  Lord  be  about  us  all,  I  did!  an' 
I  pray  God  that  it  may  lave  the  counthry  as  it 
came  to  it." 

"  Oh !  an'  that  it  may,  I  humbly  make  supplica- 
tion this  day !  " 

If  two  women  met,  it  was  with  similar  mystery 
and  fear.  "  Vread*  do  you  know  what's  at  the 
Cassidy's? " 

"  Whisht,  a-hagur,  I  do ;  but  let  what  will  hap- 
pen sure,  it's  best  for  us  to  say  nothin'." 

"Say!  the  blessed  Virgin  forbid!  I'd  cut  my 
hand  off  o'  me,  afore  I'd  spake  a  word  about  it ; 
only  that — " 

"  Whisht!  woman — for  mercy's  sake — don't — " 

And  so  they  would  separate,  each  crossing  her- 
self devoutly. 

The  meeting  at  Cassidy's  was  to  take  place 
that  day  at  twelve  o'clock  ;  but,  about  two  hours 
before  the  appointed  time,  Anne,  who  had  been  in 
some  of  the  other  houses,  came  into  her  father's, 
quite  pale,  breathless,  and  trembling. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  exclaimed,  with  clasped  hands, 
while  the  tears  fell  fast  from  her  eyes,  "  we'll  be 
lost,  ruined  !  Did  yez  hear  what's  in  the  neigh- 
borhood wid  the  Cassidys  ?  " 

"Girl,"  said  the  father,  with  more  severity  than 
he  had  ever  manifested  to  her  before,  "I  never 
yet  ris  my  hand  to  you,  but  ma  corp  an  duoivol,  if 
you  open  your  lips,  I'll  fell  you  where  you  stand. 
Do  you  want  that  cowardly  uncle  o'  yours  to  be 

*  Vread— A  nglict,  Margaret. 


The  DonagJi.  241 

the  manes  o'  hanging  your  father?  May  be  that 
was  one  o'  the  lessons  Martin  gave  you  last 
night?"  And  as  he  spoke  he  knit  his  brows  at 
her  with  that  murderous  scowl  which  was  habit- 
ual to  him.  The  girl  trembled,  and  began  to 
think  that,  since  her  father's  temper  deepened  in 
domestic  outrage  and  violence  as  his  crimes  mul- 
tiplied, the  sooner  she  left  the  family  the  better. 
Every  day,  indeed,  diminished  that  species  of  in- 
stinctive affection  which  she  had  entertained 
towards  him  ;  and  this,  in  proportion  as  her  rea- 
son ripened  into  a  capacity  for  comprehending 
the  dark  materials  of  which  his  character  was 
composed.  Whether  he  himself  began  to  con- 
sider detection  at  hand  or  not,  we  cannot  say ; 
but  it  is  certain  that  his  conduct  was  marked 
with  a  callous  recklessness  of  spirit,  which  in- 
creased in  atrocity  to  such  a  degree  that  even 
his  daughter  could  only  not  look  on  him  with  dis- 
gust. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  inquired  Denis, 
with  alarm.    "  Is  it  anything  about  us,  Anthony  ?  " 

"  No,  'tisn't,"  replied  the  other,  "  anything 
about  us  !  What 'ud  it  be  about  us  for?  'Tis  a 
lyin'  report  that  some  cunnin'  knave  spread,  hop- 
in'  to  find  out  the  guilty.  But  hear  me,  Denis, 
once  for  all ;  we're  goin'  to  clear  ourselves — now 
listen — an'  let  my  words  sink  deep  into  your 
heart ;  if  you  refuse  to  swear  this  day — no  mat- 
ther  what's  put  into  your  hand — you'll  do  harm — 
that's  all ;  have  courage,  man ;  but   should   you 


242  Half  Hoars  with  Irish  Authors. 

cozv,  your  coorse  will  be  short  ;  an'  mark,  even  if 
you  escape  me,  your  sons  won't  ;  I  have  it  all 
planned;  an'  corp  au  duowol  1  thim  you  won't 
know  from  Adam  will  revenge  me,  if  I  am  taken 
up  through  your  unmanliness." 

"  'T would  be  betther  for  us  to  lave  the  coun- 
thry,"  said  Anne  ;  "we  might  slip  away  as  it  is." 

"  Ay,"  said  the  father,  "  an'  be  taken  by  the 
neck  afore  we  get  two  mile  from  the  place  !  No, 
no,  girl ;  it's  the  safest  way  to  brazen  thim  out. 
Did  you  hear  me,  Denis?  " 

Denis  started,  for  he  had  been  evidently  pon- 
dering on  the  mysterious  words  of  Anne,  to  which 
his  brother's  anxiety  to  conceal  them  gave  addi- 
tional mystery.  The  coffin,  too,  recurred  to  him, 
and  he  feared  that  the  death  shadowed  out  by  it 
would  in  some  manner  or  other  occur  in  the  fam- 
ily. He  was,  in  fact,  one  of  those  miserable  vil- 
lains with  but  half  a  conscience ; — that  is  to  say, 
as  much  as  makes  them  the  slaves  of  the  fear 
which  results  from  crime,  without  being  the 
slightest  impediment  to  their  committing  it.  It 
was  no  wonder  he  started  at  the  deep  pervading 
tones  of  his  brother's  voice,  for  the  question  was 
put  with  ferocious  energy. 

On  starting,  he  looked  with  vague  terror  on  his 
brother,  fearing,  but  not  comprehending,  his 
question. 

"  What  is  it,  Anthony?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Oh !  for  that  matther,"  replied  the  -other, 
"  nothin'  at  all ;  think  of  what  I  said  to  you,  any- 


The  Donagh.  243 

how  ;  swear  through  thick  and  thin,  if  you  have 
a  regard  for  your  own  health,  or  for  your  chil- 
dher.  May  be  I  had  betther  repate  it  agin  for 
you?"  he  continued,  eyeing  him  with  mingled 
fear  and  suspicion.  "  Denis,  as  a  friend,  I  bid  you 
mind  yourself  this  day,  an'  see  you  don't  bring 
aither  of  us  into  throuble." 

There  lay  before  the  Cassidys'  houses  a  small 
flat  of  common,  trodden  into  rings  by  the  young 
horses  they  were  in  the  habit  of  training.  On 
this  level  space  were  assembled  those  who  came, 
either  to  clear  their  own  character  from  suspicion 
or  to  witness  the  ceremony.  The  day  was  dark 
and  lowering,  and  heavy  clouds  rolled  slowly 
across  the  peaks  of  the  surrounding  mountains ; 
scarcely  a  breath  of  air  could  be  felt ;  and,  as  the 
country  people  silently  approached,  such  was  the 
closeness  of  the  day,  their  haste  to  arrive  in  time, 
and  their  general  anxiety,  either  for  themselves 
or  their  friends,  that  almost  every  man,  on  reach- 
ing the  spot,  might  be  seen  taking  up  the  skirts 
of  his  "  cothamore,"  or  "  big  coat"  (the  peasant's 
handkerchief),  to  wipe  the  sweat  from  his  brow; 
and  as  he  took  off  his  dingy  woollen  hat,  or  cau- 
been,  the  perspiration  rose  in  strong  exhalations 
from  his  head. 

"  Michael,  am  I  in  time  ?  "  might  be  heard  from 
such  persons  as  they  arrived  :  "  did  this  business 
begin  yit  ?" 

"  Full  time,  Larry  ;  myself 's  here  an  hour  ago, 
but  no  appearance   of  anything  as   yit.     Father 


244  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

Farrell  and  Squire  Nicholson  are  both  in  Cas- 
sidy's  waitin'  till  they  all  gothcr,  whin  they'll  be- 
gin to  put  them  through  their  facin's.  You  hard 
about  what  they've  got  ?  " 

"  No  ;  for  I'm  only  on  my  way  home  from  the 
berril  of  a  clcavcn  of  mine,  that  we  put  down  this 
mornin'  in  Tullyard.     What  is  it?  " 

"  Why,  man  alive,  it's  through  the  whole  parish 
inready."  He  then  went  on,  lowering  his  voice  to 
a  whisper,  and  speaking  in  a  tone  bordering  on 
dismay. 

The  other  crossed  himself,  and  betrayed  symp- 
toms of  awe  and  astonishment,  not  unmingled 
with  fear. 

"  Well,"  lie  replied,  "  I  dunna  whether  I'd  come 
here,  if  I'd  known  that;  for,  innocent  or  guilty,  I 
wouldn't  wish  to  be  near  it.  Och,  may  God  pity 
thim  that's  to  come  acrass  it,  espishily  if  they 
dare  to  do  it  in  a  lie !" 

"  They  needn't,  I  can  tell  yez  both,"  observed 
a  third  person,  "  be  a  hair  afeard  of  it,  for  the 
best  raison  livin',  that  there's  no  thruth  at  all 
in  the  report,  nor  the  Cassidys'  never  thought  of 
sindin'  for  anything  o'  the  kind  ;  I  have  it  from 
Larry  Cassidy's  own  lips,  an'  he  ought  to  know 
best." 

The  truth  is,  that  two  reports  were  current 
among  the  crowd  ;  one  that  the  oath  was  to  be 
simply  on  the  Bible ;  and  the  other  that  a  more 
awful  means  of  expurgation  was  resorted  to  by 
the    Cassidys.      The    people    consequently,    not 


The  Doitagh.  245 

knowing  which  to  credit,  felt  that  most  painful  of 
all  sensations — uncertainty. 

During  the  period  which  intervened  between 
their  assembling  and  the  commencement  of  the 
ceremony,  a  spectator,  interested  in  contemplat- 
ing the  workings  of  human  nature  in  circumstan- 
ces of  deep  interest,  would  have  ample  scope  for 
observation.  The  occasion  was  to  them  a  solemn 
one.  There  was  little  conversation  among  them  ; 
for,  when  a  man  is  wound  up  to  a  pitch  of  great 
interest,  he  is  seldom  disposed  to  relish  discourse. 
Every  brow  was  anxious,  every  cheek  blanched, 
and  every  arm  folded  ;  they  scarcely  stirred,  or, 
when  they  did,  only  with  slow  abstracted  move- 
ments, rather  mechanical  than  voluntary.  If  an 
individual  made  his  appearance  about  Cassidy's 
door,  a  sluggish  stir  among  them  was  visible,  and 
alow  murmur  of  a  peculiar  character  might  be 
heard  ;  but  on  perceiving  that  it  was  only  some 
ordinary  person,  all  subsided  again  into  a  brood- 
ing stillness  that  was  equally  singular  and  im- 
pressive. 

Under  this  peculiar  feeling  was  the  multitude, 
when  Meehan  and  his  brother  were  seen  ap- 
proaching it  from  their  own  house.  The  elder, 
with  folded  arms,  and  hat  pulled  over  his  brows, 
stalked  grimly  forward,  having  that  remarkable 
scowl  upon  his  face  which  had  contributed  to 
establish  for  him  so  diabolical  a  character.  Denis 
walked  by  his  side,  with  his  countenance  strained 
to    inflation ; — a    miserable   parody   of  that  sullen 


246  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

effrontery  which  marked  the  unshrinking  mis- 
creant beside  him.  He  had  not  heard  of  the 
ordeal,  owing  to  the  caution  of  Anthony  :  but, 
notwithstanding  his  effort  at  indifference,  a  keen 
eye  might  have  observed  the  latent  anxiety  of  a 
man  who  was  habitually  villanous  and  naturally 
timid. 

When  this  pair  entered  the  crowd,  a  few  secret 
glances,  too  rapid  to  be  noticed  by  the  people, 
passed  between  them  and  their  accomplices.  Denis, 
on  seeing  them  present,  took  fresh  courage,  and 
looked  with  the  heroism  of  a  blusterer  upon  those 
who  stood  about  him,  especially  whenever  he 
found  himself  under  the  scrutinizing  eye  of  his 
brother.  Such  was  the  horror  and  detestation  in 
which  they  were  held,  that,  on  advancing  into  the 
assembly,  the  persons  on  each  side  turned  away, 
and  openly  avoided  them ;  eyes  full  of  fierce 
hatred  were  bent  on  them  vindictively,  and 
"curses,  not  loud,  but  deep,"  were  muttered  with 
indignation  which  nothing  but  a  divided  state  of 
feeling  could  repress  within  due  limits.  Every 
glance,  however,  was  paid  back  by  Anthony  with 
interest,  from  eyes  and  black  shaggy  brows  tre- 
mendously ferocious;  and  his  curses,  as  they 
rolled  up  half  smothered  from  his  huge  chest, 
were  deeper  and  more  diabolical  by  for  than  their 
own.  He  even  jeered  at  them ;  but,  however 
disgusting  his  frown,  there  was  something  truly 
appalling  in  the  dark  gleam  of  his  scoff,  which 
threw  them  at  an  immeasurable  distance  behind 


The  Donagh.  247 

him,  in  the   power  of  displaying  on  the   counte- 
nance the  worst  human  passions. 

At  length  Mr.  Nicholson,  Father  Farrell,  and 
his  curate,  attended  by  the  Cassidys  and  their 
friends,  issued  from  the  house ;  two  or  three 
servants  preceded  them,  bearing  a  table  and 
chairs  for  the  magistrate  and  priests,  who,  how- 
ever, stood  during  the  ceremony.  When  they 
entered  one  of  the  rings  before  alluded  to,  the 
table  and  chairs  were  placed  in  the  centre  of  it, 
and  Father  Farrell,  as  possessing  most  influence 
over  the  people,  addressed  them  very  impressive- 

iy-  r 

"  There  are,"  said  he,  in  conclusion,  "  persons 
in  this  crowd  whom  we  know  -to  be  guilty  ;  but  we 
will  have  an  opportunity  of  now  witnessing  the 
lengths  to  which  crime,  long  indulged  in,  can 
carry  them.  To  such  people  I  would  say,  beware  / 
for  they  know  not  the  situation  in  which  they  are 
placed." 

During  all  this  time  there  was  not  the  slightest 
allusion  made  to  the  mysterious  ordeal  which  had 
excited  so  much  awe  and  apprehension  among 
them — a  circumstance  which  occasioned  many  a 
pale,  downcast  face  to  clear  up,  and  reassume  its 
usual  cheerful  expression.  The  crowd  now  were 
assembled  around  the  ring,  and  every  man  on 
whom  an  imputation  had  been  fastened  came  for- 
ward, when  called  upon,  to  the  table  at  which 
the  priest  and  magistrate  stood  uncovered.  The 
form  of  the  oath  was  framed  by  the  two  clergy- 


248  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

men,  who,  as  they  knew  the  reservations  and 
evasions  commonest  among  such  characters,  had 
ingeniously  contrived  not  to  leave  a  single  loop- 
hole through  which  the  consciences  of  those  who 
belonged  to  this  worthy  fraternity  might  escape. 

To  those  acquainted  with  Irish  courts  of  justice 
there  was  nothing  particularly  remarkable  in  the 
swearing.  Indeed,  one  who  stood  among  the 
crowd  might  hear  from  those  who  were  stationed 
at  the  greatest  distance  from  the  table,  such 
questions  as  the  following  : — 

"  Is  the  thing \\\  it,  Art?" 

"  No  ;  'tis  nothin'  but  the  law  Bible,  the  magis- 
trate's own  one." 

To  this  the  querist  would  reply,  with  a  satisfied 
nod  of  the  head,  "  Oh  !  is  that  all?  I  heard  they 
war  to  have  it ;"  on  which  he  would  push  himself 
through  the  crowd  until  he  reached  the  table, 
where  he  took  his  oath  as  readily  as  another. 

"Jem  Hartigan,"  said  the  magistrate,  to  one  of 
those  persons,  "arejw/  to  swear?" 

"  Faix,  myself  doesn't  know,  you  honor ;  only 
that  I  hard  them  say  that  the  Cassidys  mintioned 
our  names  along  wid  many  other  honest  people; 
an'  one  wouldn't,  in  that  case,  lie  under  a  false 
report,  your  honor,  from  any  one,  when  we're  as 
clear  as  them  that  never  saw  the  light  of  anything 
of  the  kind." 

The  magistrate  then  put  the  book  into  his  hand, 
and  Jem,  in  return,  fixed  his  eye,  with  much 
apparent   innocence,   on    his   face:     "Now,    Jem 


The  Donagh.  249 

Hartigan,"  etc.  etc.,  and  the  oath  was  accordingly 
administered.  Jem  put  the  book  to  his  mouth, 
with  his  thumb  raised  to  an  acute  angle  on  the 
back  of  it;  nor  was  the  smack  by  any  means  a 
silent  one  which  he  gave  it  (his  thumb). 

The  magistrate  set  his  ear  with  the  air  of  a  man 
who  had  experience  in  discriminating  such  sounds. 
"Hartigan,"  said  he,  "you'll  condescend  to  kiss 
the  book,  sir,  if  you  please  ;  there's  a  hollowness 
in  that  smack,  my  good  fellow,  that  can't  escape 
me." 

"  Not  kiss  it,  your  honor?  Why,  by  this  staff  in 
my  hand,  if  ever  a  man  kissed — " 

"Silence!  you  impostor,"  said  the  curate;  "I 
watched  you  closely,  and  am  confident  your  lips 
never  touched  the  book." 

"  My  lips  never  touched  the  book! — Why,  you 
know  I'd  be  sarry  to  conthradict  either  o'  yez  ;  but 
I  was  jist  goin'  to  obsarve,  wid  simmission,  that 
my  own  lips  ought  to  know  best;  an'  don't  you 
hear  them  tellin'  you  that  they  did  kiss  it  ?"  And  he 
grinned  with  confidence  in  their  faces. 

"You  double-dealing  reprobate!"  said  the 
parish  priest,  "  I'll  lay  my  whip  across  your  jaws. 
1  saw  you,  too,  an'  you  did  not  kiss  the  book." 

"  By  dad,  an'  may  be  I  did  not,  sure  enough," 
he  replied;  "any  man  may  make  a  mistake  \\\\- 
knownst  to  himself;  but  I'd  give  my  oath,  an'  be 
the  five  crasses,  I  kissed  it  as  sure  as — however, 
a  good  thing's  never  the  worse  o'  bein'  twice 
done,  gintlemen  ;  so  here  goes,  jist  to  satisfy  yez.' 


250  Half  //ours  with  /risk  Authors. 

And,  placing  the  book  near  bis  mouth,  and  alter- 
ing his  position  a  little,  he  appeared  to  comply, 
though,  on  the  contrary,  he  touched  neither  it  nor 
his  thumb.  "  It's  the  same  thing  to  me,"  he  con- 
tinued, laying  down  the  book  with  an  air  of  con- 
fident assurance  ;  "it's  the  same  thing  to  me  if  I 
kissed  it  fifty  times  over,  which  I'm  ready  to  do 
if  that  doesn't  satisfy  yez." 

As  every  man  acquitted  himself  of  the  charges 
brought  against  him,  the  curate  immediately  took 
down  his  name.  Indeed,  before  the  "clearing" 
commenced,  he  requested  that  such  as  were  to 
swear  would  stand  together  within  the  ring,  that, 
after  having  sworn,  he  might  hand  each  of  them  a 
certificate  of  the  fact,  which  they  appeared  to  think 
might  be  serviceable  to  them,  should  the}'  happen 
to  be  subsequently  indicted  for  the  same  crime  in 
a  court  of  justice.  This,  however,  was  only  a 
plan  to  keep  them  together  for  what  was  soon  to 
take  place. 

The  detections  of  thumb-kissing  were  received 
by  those  who  had  already  sworn,  and  by  several 
in  the  outward  crowd,  with  much  mirth.  It  is  but 
justice,  however,  to  the  majority  of  those  assem- 
bled to  state  that  they  appeared  to  entertain  a 
serious  opinion  of  the  nature  of  the  ceremony,  and 
no  small  degree  of  abhorrence  against  those  who 
seemed  to  trifle  with  the  solemnity  of  an  oath. 

Standing  on  the  edge  of  the  circle,  in  the  inner- 
most row,  were  Meehan  and  his  brother.  The 
former  eyed,  with  all  the  hardness  of  a  stoic,  the 


The  Donagh.  251 

successive  individuals  as  they  passed  up  to  the 
table.  Mis  accomplices  had  gone  forward,  and  to 
the  surprise  of  man)-  who  strongly  suspected 
them,  in  the  most  indifferent  manner  "  cleared  " 
themselves,  in  the  trying  words  of  the  oath,  of  all 
knowledge  of,  and  participation  in,  the  thefts  that 
had  taken  place. 

The  grim  visage  of  the  elder  Median  was 
marked  by  a  dark  smile,  scarcely  perceptible ; 
but  his  brother,  whose  nerves  were  not  so  firm, 
appeared  somewhat  confused  and  distracted  by 
the  imperturbable  villany  of  the  perjurers. 

At  length  they  were  called  up.  Anthony  ad- 
vanced slowly  but  collectedly  to  the  table,  only 
turning  his  eye  slightly  about  to  observe  if  his 
brother  accompanied  him.  "  Denis,"  said  he, 
"  which  of  us  will  swear  first?  You  may."  For,  as 
he  doubted  his  brother's  firmness,  he  was  prudent 
enough,  should  he  fail,  to  guard  against  having 
the  sin  of  perjury  to  answer  for,  along  with  those 
demands  which  his  country  had  to  make  for  his 
other  crimes.  Denis  took  the  book,  and  cast  a 
slight  glance  at  his  brother  as  if  for  encourage- 
ment ;  their  eyes  met,  and  the  darkened  brow  of 
Anthony  hinted  at  the  danger  of  flinching  in  this 
crisis.  The  tremor  of  his  hand  was  not,  perhaps, 
visible  to  any  but  Anthony,  who,  however,  did 
not  overlook  this  circumstance.  He  held  the 
book,  but  raised  not  his  eye  to  meet  the  looks  of 
either  the  magistrate  or  the  priest's ;  the  color 
also  left  his  face,  as  with  shrinking  lips  he  touched 


252  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

the  Word  of  God  in  deliberate  falsehood.  Hav- 
ing then  laid  it  down,  Anthon)'-  received  it  with  a 
firm  grasp,  and,  whilst  his  eye  turned  boldly  in 
contemptuous  mockery  upon  those  who  presented 
it.  he  impressed  it  with  the  kiss  of  a  man  whose 
depraved  conscience  seemed  to  goad  him  only  to 
evil.  After  "  clearing"  himself,  he  laid  the  Bible 
upon  the  table  with  the  affected  air  of  a  person 
who  felt  hurt  at  the  imputation  of  theft,  and  joined 
the  rest,  with  a  frown  upon  his  countenance,  and 
a  smothered  curse  upon  his  lips. 

Just  at  this  moment,  a  person  from  Cassidy's 
house  laid  upon  the  table  a  small  box  covered 
with  black  cloth  ;  and  our  readers  will  be  sur- 
prised to  hear  that,  if  fire  had  come  down  visibly 
from  heaven,  greater  awe  and  fear  could  not  have 
been  struck  into  their  hearts  or  depicted  upon 
their  countenances.  The  casual  conversation  and 
the  commentaries  upon  the  ceremony  they  had 
witnessed,  instantly  settled  into  a  most  profound 
silence,  and  every  eye  was  turned  towards  it  with 
an  interest  absolutely  fearful. 

"  Let,"  said  the  curate,  "  none  of  those  who 
have  sworn  depart  from  within  the  ring,  until  they 
oice  more  clear  themselves  upon  this  ;"  and  as  he 
spoke,  he  held  it  up — "  Behold,"  said  he,  "  and 
tremble— behold  The  Donagh  ! ! !  " 

A  low  murmur  of  awe  and  astonishment  burst 
from  the  people  in  general,  whilst  those  within 
the  ring,  who  with  few  exceptions  were  the  worst 
characters  in  the  parish,  appeared  ready  to  sink 


The  Donagh.  253 

into  the  earth.  Their  countenances,  for  the  most 
part,  paled  into  the  condemned  hue  of  guilt; 
many  of  them  became  almost  unable  to  stand  ; 
and  altogether  the  state  of  trepidation  and  terror 
in  which  they  stood  was  strikingly  wild  and  ex- 
traordinary. 

The  curate  proceeded  :  "  Let  him  now  who  is 
guilty  depart  ;  or,  if  he  wishes,  advance,  and  chal- 
lenge the  awful  penalty  annexed  to  perjury  upon 
THIS  !  Who  has  ever  been  known  to  swear  falsely 
upon  the  Donagh,  without  being  visited  by  a  tre- 
mendous punishment,  either  on  the  spot,  or  in 
twenty-four  hours  after  his  perjury  ?  If  we  our- 
selves have  not  seen  such  instances  with  our  own 
eyes,  it  is  because  none  liveth  who  dare  incur 
such  dreadful  penalty ;  but  we  have  heard  of 
those  who  did,  and  of  their  awful  punishment 
afterwards.  Sudden  death,  madness,  paralysis, 
self-destruction,  or  the  murder  of  some  one  dear 
to  them,  are  the  marks  by  which  perjury  upon 
the  Donagh  is  known  and  visited.  Advance  now, 
ye  who  are  innocent,  but  let  the  guilty  withdraw ; 
for  we  do  not  desire  to  witness  the  terrible  ven- 
gance  which  would  attend  a  false  oath  upon  the 
Donagh.  Pause,  therefore,  and  be  cautious  !  for 
if  this  grievous  sin  be  committed,  a  heavy  punish- 
ment will  fall,  not  only  upon  you,  but  upon  the 
parish  in  which  it  occurs !  " 

The  words  of  the  priest  sounded  to  the  guilty 
like  the  death  sentence  of  a  judge.  Before  he 
concluded,  all  except  Meehan  and   his   brother, 


254  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

and  a  few  who  were  really  innocent,  had  slunk 
back  out  of  the  circle  into  the  crowd.  Denis, 
however,  became  pale  as  a  corpse,  and  from  time 
to  time  wiped  the  large  drops  from  his  haggard 
brow  ;  even  Anthony's  cheek,  despite  of  his  natu- 
ral callousness,  was  less  red;  his  eyes  became  dis- 
turbed, but  by  their  influence  he  contrived  to 
keep  Denis  in  sufficient  dread  to  prevent  him 
from  mingling,  like  the  rest,  among  the  people. 
The  few  who  remained  along  with  them  advanced, 
and  notwithstanding  their  innocence,  when  the 
Donagh  was  presented  and  the  figure  of  Christ 
and  the  Twelve  Apostles  displayed  in  the  solemn 
tracery  of  its  carving,  they  exhibited  symptoms 
of  fear.  With  trembling  hands  they  touched  the 
Donagh,  and  with  trembling  lips  kissed  the  Cru- 
cifix, in  attestation  of  their  guiltlessness  of  the 
charge  with  which  they  had  been  accused. 

"  Anthony  and  Denis  Meehan,  come  forward," 
said  the  curate,  "  and  declare  your  innocence  of 
the  crimes  with  which  you  are  charged  by  the 
Cassidys  and  others." 

Anthony  advanced,  but  Denis  stood  rooted  to 
the  ground  ;  on  perceiving  which,  the  former 
sternly  returned  a  step  or  two,  and  catching  him 
by  the  arm  with  an  admonitory  grip  that  could 
not  easily  be  misunderstood,  compelled  him  to 
proceed  with  himself  step  by  step  to  the  table. 
Denis,  however,  could  feel  the  strong  man  trem- 
ble, and  perceive  that,  although  he  strove  to  lash 
himself  into  the  energy  of  despair,  and  the  utter 


The  Donagh.  255 

disbelief  of  all  religious  sanction,  yet  the  trial  be- 
fore him  called  every  slumbering  prejudice  and 
apprehension  of  his  mind  into  active  power.  This 
was  a  death-blow  to  his  own  resolution,  or,  rather 
it  confirmed  him  in  his  previous  determination 
not  to  swear  on  the  Donagh,  except  to  acknow- 
ledge his  guilt,  which  he  could  scarcely  prevent 
himself  from  doing,  such  was  the  vacillating  state 
of  mind  to  which  he  felt  himself  reduced. 

When  Anthony  reached  the  table,  his  huge 
form  seemed  to  dilate  by  his  effort  at  maintaining 
the  firmness  necessary  to  support  him  in  this  aw- 
ful struggle  between  conscience  and  superstition, 
on  the  one  hand,  and  guilt,  habit,  and  infidelity, 
on  the  other.  He  fixed  his  deep,  dilated  eyes 
upon  the  Donagh,  in  a  manner  that  betokened 
somewhat  of  irresolution ;  his  countenance  fell, 
his  color  came  and  went,  but  eventually  settled 
in  a  flushed  red  ;  his  powerful  hands  and  arms 
trembled  so  much,  that  he  folded  them  to  pre- 
vent his  agitation  from  being  noticed ;  the  grim- 
ness  of  his  face  ceased  to  be  stern,  while  it  re- 
tained the  blank  expression  of  guilt  ;  his  temples 
swelled  out  with  the  terrible  play  of  their  blood- 
vessels, his  chest,  too,  heaved  up  and  down  with 
the  united  pressure  of  guilt,  and  the  tempest 
which  shook  him  within.  At  length  he  saw 
Denis's  eye  upon  him,  and  his  passions  took  a 
new  direction  ;  he  knit  his  brows  at  him  with 
more  than  usual  fierceness,  ground  his  teeth,  and, 
with   a   step   and  action  of  suppressed   fury,  he 


256  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Autlwrs. 

placed  his  foot  at  the  edge  of  the  table,  and,  bow- 
ing down  under  the  eye  of  God  and  man,  took 
the  awful  oath  on  the  mysterious  Donagh,  in  a 
falsehood  !  When  it  was  finished,  a  feeble  groan 
broke  from  his  brother's  lips.  Anthony  bent  his 
eye  on  him  with  a  deadly  glare,  but  Denis  saw  it 
not.  The  shock  was  beyond  his  courage — he  had 
become  insensible. 

Those  who  stood  at  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd, 
seeing  Denis  apparently  lifeless,  thought  he  must 
have  sworn  falsely  on  the  Donagh,  and  exclaimed, 
"  He's  dead  !  gracious  God !  Denis  Median's 
struck  dead  by  the  Donagh  !  He  swore  in  a  lie, 
and  is  now  a  corpse  !  "  Anthony  paused,  and 
calmly  surveyed  him,  as  he  lay  with  his  head 
resting  upon  the  hands  of  those  who  supported 
him.  At  this  moment  a  silent  breeze  came  over 
where  he  stood  ;  and,  as  the  Donagh  lay  upon 
the  table,  the  black  ribbons  with  which  it  was  or- 
namented fluttered  with  a  melancholy  appear- 
ance that  deepened  the  sensations  of  the  people 
into  something  peculiarly  solemn  and  preternatu- 
ral. Denis  at  length  revived,  and  stared  wildly 
and  vacantly  about  him.  When  composed  suffi- 
ciently to  distinguish  and  recognize  individual 
objects,  he  looked  upon  the  gloomy  visage  and 
threatening  eye  of  his  brother,  and  shrank  back 
with  a  terror  almost  epileptical.  "  Oh  !  "  he  ex- 
claimed, "save  me!  save  me  from  that  man,  and 
I'll  discover  all !  " 

Anthony  calmly  folded  one  arm  into  his  bosom; 


The  Donasrh. 


■$7 


and  his  lip  quivered,  with  the  united  influence  of 
hatred  and  despair. 

"  Hould  him  !  "  shrieked  a  voice  which  pro- 
ceeded from  his  daughter.  "  Hould  my  father,  or 
he'll  murdher  him  !     Oh  !  oh  !  merciful  heaven  !  " 

Ere  the  words  were  uttered,  she  had  made  an 
attempt  to  clasp  the  arms  of  her  parent  whose 
motions  she  understood  ;  but  only  in  time  to  re- 
ceive from  the  pistol  which  he  had  concealed  in 
his  breast  the  bullet  aimed  at  her  uncle  !  She 
tottered,  and  the  blood  spouted  out  of  her  neck 
upon  her  father's  brows,  who  hastily  put  up  his 
hand  and  wiped  it  away,  for  it  had  actually  blind- 
ed him. 

The  elder  Median  was  a  tall  man,  and,  as  he 
stood  elevated  nearly  a  head  above  the  crowd,  his 
grim  brows  red  with  his  daughter's  blood — which, 
in  attempting  to  wipe  away,  he  had  deeply 
streaked  across  his  face — his  eyes  shooting  fiery 
gleams  of  his  late  resentment,  mingled  with  the 
wildness  of  unexpected  horror — as  he  thus  stood, 
it  would  be  impossible  to  contemplate  a  more  re- 
volting picture  of  that  state  to  which  the  princi- 
ples that  had  regulated  his  life  must  ultimately 
lead,  even  in  this  world. 

On  perceiving  what  he  had  done,  the  deep 
working  of  his  powerful  frame  was  struck  into 
sudden  stillness,  and  he  turned  his  eyes  on  his 
bleeding  daughter,  with  a  fearful  perception  of 
her  situation.  Now  was  the  harvest  of  his  creed 
and  crimes  reaped  in  blood  ;  and  he  felt  that  the 


25S  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

stroke  which  had  fallen  upon  him  was  one  of 
those  by  which  God  will  sometimes  bare  his  arm 
and  vindicate  his  justice.  The  reflection,  how- 
ever, shook  him  not;  the  reality  of  his  misery 
was  too  intense  and  pervading,  and  grappled  too 
strongly  with  his  hardened  and  unbending  spirit, 
to  waste  its  power  upon  a  nerve  or  a  muscle.  It 
was  abstracted,  and  beyond  the  reach  of  bodily 
suffering.  From  the  moment  his  daughter  fell,  he 
moved  not;  his  lips  were  half  open  with  the  com 
viction  produced  by  the  blasting  truth  of  her 
death,  effected  prematurely  by  his  own  hand. 

Those  parts  of  his  face  which  had  not  been 
stained  with  her  blood  assumed  an  ashy  paleness, 
and  rendered  his  countenance  more  terrific  by 
the  contrast.  Tall,  powerful,  and  motionless  he 
appeared  to  the  crowd,  glaring  at  the  girl  like  a 
tiger  anxious  to  join  his  offspring,  yet  stunned 
with  the  shock  of  the  bullet  which  has  touched  a 
vital  part.  His  iron-gray  hair,  as  it  fell  in  thick 
masses  about  his  neck,  was  moved  slightly  by  the 
blast,  and  a  lock  which  fell  over  his  temple  was 
blown  back  with  a  motion  rendered  more  distinct 
by  his  statue-like  attitude,  immovable  as  death. 

A  silent  and  awful  gathering  of  the  people 
around  this  impressive  scene  intimated  their 
knowledge  of  what  they  considered  to  be  a  judi- 
cial punishment  annexed  to  perjury  upon  the 
Donagh.  This  relic  lay  on  the  table,  and  the 
eyes  of  those  who  stood  within  view  of  it  turned 
from  Anthony's  countenance  to  it,  and  again  back 


The  Donagh.  259 

to  his  blood-stained  visage,  with  all  the  over- 
whelming influence  of  superstitious  fear.  Shud- 
derings,  tremblings,  crossings,  and  ejaculations 
marked  their  conduct  and  feeling;  for  though  the 
incident  itself  was  simply  a  fatal  and  uncommon 
one,  yet  they  considered  it  supernatural  and  mi- 
raculous. 

At  length  a  loud  and  agonizing  cry  burst  from 
the  lips  of  Meehan — "  O  God  !  God  of  heaven 
an'  earth  ! — have  I  murdhered  my  daughter  ?  " 
And  he  cast  down  the  fatal  weapon  with  a  force 
which  buried  it  some  inches  into  the  wet  clay. 

The  crowd  had  closed  upon  Anne,  but  with 
the  strength  of  a  giant  he  flung  them  aside,  caught 
the  girl  in  his  arms,  and  pressed  her  bleeding  to 
his  bosom.  He  gasped  for  breath.  "Anne,"  said 
he — "  Anne,  I  am  without  hope,  an'  there's  none 
to  forgive  me  except  you — none  at  all ;  from  God 
to  the  poorest  of  his  creatures,  I  am  hated  an' 
cursed  by  all,  except  you  !  Don't  curse  me,  Anne, 
don't  curse  me !  Oh  !  isn't  it  enough,  darlin', 
that  my  sowl  is  now  stained  with  your  blood, 
along  with  my  other  crimes?  In  hell,  on  earth, 
an'  in  heaven  there's  none  to  forgive  your  father 
but  yourself! — none,  none!  Oh!  what's  com- 
in'  over  me  !  I'm  dizzy  an'  shiverin'!  How  cowld 
the  day's  got  of  a  sudden !  HouLd  up,  avournceu 
macJirce!  I  was  a  bad  man  ;  but  to  you,  Anne,  I 
was  not  as  I  was  to  every  one  !  Darlin',  oh !  look 
at  me  with  forgiveness  in  your  eye,  or,  anyway, 
don't  curse  me  !    Oh  !  I'm  far  cowlder  now  !    Tell 


260  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

me  that  you  forgive  me,  acushla,  oge  machrce! — 
Manim  asiJiee  hu*  darlin',  say  it.  I  DAR'n't  Look 
to  God  !  But,  oh  !  do  you  say  the  forgivin'  word 
to  your  father  before  you  die  !  " 

"  Father,"  said  she,  "  I  deserve  this — it's  only 
just ;  I  have  plotted  with  that  divilish  Martin  to 
betray  them  all,  except  yourself,  an*  to  get  the  re- 
ward ;  an'  then  we  intended  to  go — an' — live  at  a 
distance — an'  in  wickedness — where  we — might 
not  be  known — he's  at  our  house — let  him  be — se- 
cured. Forgive  me,  father — you  said  so  often 
that  there  was  no  thruth  in  religion — that  I  began 
to — think  so.  O — God!  have  mercy  upon  me  !  " 
And  with  these  words  she  expired. 

Meehan's  countenance,  on  hearing  this,  was 
overspread  with  a  ghastly  look  of  the  most  deso- 
lating agony  ;  he  staggered  back,  and  t-he  body  of 
his  daughter,  which  he  strove  to  hold,  would 
have  fallen  from  his  arms,  had  it  not  been  caught 
by  the  by-standers.  His  eye  sought  out  his 
brother,  but  not  in  resentment.  "Oh  !  she  died, 
but  didn't  say,  '  I  FORGIVE  YOU  !'  Denis,"  said  he, 
"  Denis,  bring  me  home — I'm  sick — very  sick — 
oh  !  but  it's  cowld — everything's  reeling — how 
cowld — cowld  it  is!  "  And,  as  he  uttered  the  last 
words,  he  shuddered,  fell  down  in  a  fit  of  apo- 
plexy, never  to  rise  again  ;  and  the  bodies  of  his 
daughter  and  himself  were  both  waked  and  buried 
together. 

The  result  is  brief.     The  rest  of  the  gang  were 

*  Young  pulse  of  my  heart !— my  soul  is  within  thee  ! 


The  Donagh.  261 

secured  ;  Denis  became  approver,  by  whose  evi- 
dence they  suffered  that  punishment  decreed  by 
law  to  the  crimes  of  which  they  had  been  guilty. 
The  two  events  which  we  have  just  related  of 
course  added  to  the  supernatural  fear  and  reve- 
rence previously  entertained  for  this  terrible  relic. 
It  is  still  used  as  an  ordeal  of  expurgation,  in 
cases  of  stolen  property  ;  and  we  are  not  wrong 
in  asserting  that  many  of  these  misguided  crea- 
tures, who  too  frequently  hesitate  not  to  swear 
falsely  on  the  Word  of  God,  would  suffer  death 
itself  sooner  than  commit  a  perjury  on  the 
Donagh. 


LARRY  MCFARLAND'S  WAKE. 

AS   DESCRIBED   BY   TOM    McROARKIN. 


THE  squire  very  kindly  lent  sheets  for  them 
both  to  be  laid  out  in,  and  mould  candle- 
sticks to  hould  the  lights;  and,  God  he  knows! 
'twas  a  grievous  sight  to  see  the  father  and  mother 
both  stretched  beside  one  another  in  their  poor 
place,  and  their  little  orphans  about  them  ;  the  gor- 
soons — them  that  had  sense  enough  to  know  their 
loss — breaking  their  hearts,  the  crathurs,  and  so 
hoarse  that  they  weren't  able  to  cry  or  spake. 
But,  indeed,  it  was  worse  to  see  the  two  young 
things  going  over,  and  wanting  to  get  acrass  to 
waken  their  daddy  and  mammy,  poor  desolit 
childher ! 

When  the  corpses  were  washed  and  dressed, 
they  looked  uncommonly  well,  consitherin'.  Larry, 
indeed,  didn't  bear  death  so  well  as  Sally  ;  but 
you  couldn't  meet  a  purtier  corpse  than  she  was 
in  a  day's  travelling.  I  say,  when  they  were 
washed  and  dressed,  their  friends  and  neighbors 
knelt  down  round  them,  and  offered  up  a  Pather 
and  Ave  apiece,  for  the  good  of  their  sowls  ;  when 
this  was  .done,  they  all  raised  the  keena,  stooping 
over  them  at  a  half  bend,  clapping  their  hands, 


Larry  M c  Far  land*  s   Wake.  263 

and  praising  them  as  far  as  they  could  say  any- 
thing- good  of  them  ;  and,  indeed,  the  crathurs, 
they  were  never  any  one's  enemy  but  their  own, 
so  that  nobody  could  say  an  ill- word  of  either  of 
them.  Bad  luck  to  it  for  potteen-work  every  day 
it  rises  !  only  for  it,  that  couple's  poor  orphans 
wouldn't  be  left  without  father  or  mother  as 
they  were  ;  nor  poor  Hurrish  go  the  gray  gate  he 
did,  if  he  had  his  father  living,  may  be  :  but,  hav- 
ing nobody  to  bridle  him  in,  he  took  to  horse- 
riding  for  the  squire,  and  then  to  staling  them  for 
himself.  He  was  hanged  afterwards,  along  with 
Peter  Doraghy  Crolly,  that  shot  Ned  Wilson's 
uncle  of  the  Black  Hills. 

After  the  first  keening,  the  friends  and  neigh- 
bors took  their  sates  about  the  corpse.  In  a  short 
time,  whiskey;  pipes,  snuff,  and  tobacco  came,  and 
ever)7  one  about  the  place  got  a  glass  and  a  fresh 
pipe.  Tom,  when  he  held  his  glass  in  his  hand, 
looking  at  his  dead  brother,  filled  up  to  the  eyes, 
and  couldn't  for  some  time  get  out  a  word  ;  at 
last,  when  he  was  able  to  spake,  "  Poor  Larry," 
says  he,  "you're  lying  there  low  before  me,  and 
many  a  happy  day  we  spint  with  one  another. 
When  we  were  childher,"  said  he,  turning  to  the 
rest,  "  we  were  never  asunder;  he  was  oulder  nor 
me  by  two  years,  and  can  I  ever  forget  the 
leathering  he  gave  Dick  Rafferty  long  ago,  for 
hitting  me  with  the  rotten  egg,  although  Dick 
was  a  great  dale  bigger  than  either  of  us  ?  God 
knows,  although  you  didn't  thrive  in  life,  either 


264  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

of  you,  as  you  might  and  could  have  done,  there 
wasn't  a  more  neighborly  or  friendly  couple  in 
the  parish  they  lived  in ;  and  now  God  help  them 
both  and  their  poor  orphans  over  them  !  Larry, 
acushla,  your  health,  and  Sail}7,  yours  ;  and  may 
God  Almighty  have  marcy  on  both  your  sowls !" 

After  this,  the  neighbors  began  to  flock  in 
more  generally.  When  any  relation  of  the  corpses 
would  come,  as  soon,  }rou  see,  as  they'd  get  inside 
the  door,  whether  man  or  woman,  they'd  raise 
the  shout  of  a  keena,  and  all  the  people  about  the 
dead  would  begin  along  with  them,  stooping  over 
them  and  clapping  their  hands  as  before. 

Well,  I  said,  it's  it  that  was  the  merry  wake, 
and  that  was  only  the  thruth,  neighbors.  As  soon 
as  night  came,  all  the  young  boys  and  girls  from 
the  country-side  about  them  flocked  to  it  in 
scores.  In  a  short  time  the  house  was  crowded  ; 
and  may  be  there  wasn't  laughing,  and  story-tell- 
ing, and  singing,  and  smoking,  and  drinking,  and 
crying — all  going  on,  helter-skelter,  together. 
When  they'd  be  all  in  full  chorus  this  way,  may 
be  some  new  friend  or  relation  that  wasn't  there 
before  would  come  in  and  raise  the  keena ;  of 
coorse  the  youngsters  would  then  keep  quiet ; 
and  if  the  person  coming  in  was  from  the  one 
neighborhood  with  any  of  them  that  were  so 
merry,  as  soon  as  he'd  raise  the  shout  the  merry 
folks  would  rise  up,  begin  to  pelt  their  hands 
together,  and  cry  along  with  him  till  their  eyes 
would  be  as  red  as  a  ferret's.     That  once  over, 


Larry  McFarlancTs  Wake.  265 

they'd  be  down  again  at  the  songs,  and  divarsion, 
and  divilment,  just  as  if  nothing  of  the  kind  had 
taken  place ;  the  other  would  then  shake  hands 
with  the  friends  of  the  corpses,  get  a  glass  or  two, 
and  a  pipe,  and  in  a  few  minutes  be  as  merry  as 
the  best  of  them. 

"  Well,"  said  Andy  Morrow,  "  I  should  like  to 
know  if  the  Scotch  and  English  are  such  heerum- 
skeerum  kind  of  people  as  we  Irishmen  are?" 

"  Musha,  in  throth  I'm  sure  they're  not,"  says 
Nancy  ;  "  for  I  believe  that  Irishmen  are  like  no- 
body in  the  wide  world  but  themselves  ;  quare 
crathurs  that'll  laugh,  or  cry,  or  fight  with  any 
one,  just  for  nothing  else,  good  or  bad,  but  com- 
pany." 

Indeed,  and  you  all  know  that  what  I'm  say- 
ing's thruth,  except  Mr.  Morrow  there  that  I'm 
telling  it  to  bekase  he's  not  in  the  habit  of  going 
to  wakes  ;  although,  to  do  him  justice,  he's  very 
friendly  in  going  to  a  neighbor's  funeral ;  and,  in- 
deed, kind  father  for  you*  Mr.  Morrow,  for  it's  he 
that  was  a  real  good  hand  at  going  to  such  places 
himself. 

Well,  as  I  was  telling  you,  there  was  great 
sport  going  on.  In  one  corner,  you  might  see  a 
knot  of  ould  men  sitting  together,  talking  over 
ould  times — ghost-stories,  fairy-tales,  or  the  great 
rebellion  of  '41,  and  the  strange  story  of  Lamh 
Dearg,  or  the  bloody  hand — that  may  be  I'll  tell 

*  That  is,  in  this  point  you  are  of  the  same  kind  as  your  father ;  possessing 
that  prominent  trait  in  his  disposition  or  character. 


266  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

you  all  some  other  night,  plase  God  ;  there  they'd 
sit  smoking — their  faces  quite  plased  with  the 
pleasure  of  the  pipe — amusing  themselves  and  a 
crowd  of  people  that  would  be  listening  to  them 
with  open  mouth.  Or,  it's  odds,  but  there  would 
be  some  droll  young  fellow  among  them  taking  a 
rise  out-Cf  them  ;  and,  .positively,  he'd  often  find 
them  able  enough  for  him,  particularly  old  fted 
Mangin  that  wanted  at  the  time  only  four  years 
of  a  hundred.  The  Lord  be  good  to  him,  and 
rest  his  sowl  in  glory  !  it's  he  that  was  the  pleas- 
ant ould  man,  and  could  tell  a  story  with  any 
one  that  ever  got  up. 

In  another  corner,  there  was  a  different  set, 
bent  on  some  piece  of  divilment  of  their  own. 
The  boys  would  be  sure  to  get  beside  their  sweet- 
hearts, anyhow  ;  and,  if  there  was  a  purty  girl,  as 
you  may  set  it  down  there  was,  it's  there  the 
skroodgiug,"  and  the  pushing,  and  the  shoving, 
and  sometimes  the  knocking  down  itself  would 
be  about  5eeing  who'd  get  her.  There's  ould 
Katty  Duffy,  that's  now  as  crooked  as  the  hind 
leg  of  a  dog,  and  it's  herself  was  then  as  straight 
as  a  rush,  and  as  blooming  as  a  rose — Lord  bless 
us !  what  an  alteration  time  makes  upon  the 
strongest  and  fairest  of  us! — it's  she  that  was  the 
purty  girl  that  night,  and  it's  myself  that  gave 
Frank  M'Shane,  that's  still  aliw  to  acknowledge 
it,  the  broad  of  his  back  upon  the  flure  when  he 
thought  to  pull  her  off  my  knee.     The  very  gor- 

*The  pressure  in  a  crowd. 


Larry  McFarland's   Wake.  267 

soons  and  girshas  were  coorting  away  among 
themselves,  and  learning  one  another  to  smoke  in 
the  dark  corners.  But  all  this,  Mr.  Morrow,  took 
place  in  the  corpse-house,  before  ten  or  eleven 
o'clock  at  night ;  after  that  time,  the  house  got 
too  throng  entirely,  and  couldn't  hould  the  half  of 
them  ;  so,  by  jing,  off  we  set,  mailing  all  the 
youngsters  of  us,  both  boys  and  girls,  out  to 
Tom's  barn  that  was  red*  up  for  us  there,  to  com- 
mence the  plays.  When  we  were  gone,  the  ould 
people  had  more  room,  and  they  moved  about  oti 
the  sates  we  had  left  them.  In  the  manetime, 
lashings  of  tobacco  and  snuff,  cut  in  platefuls, 
and  piles  of  fresh  new  pipes,  were  laid  on  the 
table  for  any  one  that  wished  to  use  them. 

When  we  got  to  the  barn,  it's  then  we  took  our 
pinups  off\  in  airnest — by  the  hokey,  such  sport 
you  never  saw.  The  first  play  we  began  was 
Hot-loof ;  and  may  be  there  wasn't  skelping  then. 
It  was  the  two  parishes  of  Errigle-Keeran  and 
Errigle-Truagh  against  one  another.  There  was 
the  Slip  from  Althadhawan  for  Errigle-Truagh, 
against  Pat  M'Ardle,  that  had  married  Lanty 
Gorman's  daughter  of  Cargach,  for  Errigle-Kee- 
ran. The  way  they  play  it,  Mr.  Morrow,  is  this  : 
Two  young  men  out  of  each  parish  go  out  upon 
the  flure;  one  of  them  stands  up,  then  bends  him- 
self, sir,  at  a  naif  bend,  placing  his  left  hand  be- 
hind on  the  back  part  of  his  ham,  keeping  it  there 
to  receive  what  it's  to  get.    Well,  there  he  stands, 

*  Cleared  up— set  in  order.  t  Threw  aside  all  restraint. 


268  Half  Hours  zvith  Irish  Authors. 

and  the  other,  coming  behind  him,  places  his  left 
foot  out  before  him,  doubles  up  the  cuff  of  his 
coat,  to  give  his  hand  and  wrist  freedom  ;  he 
then  rises  his  right  arm,  coming  down  with  the 
heel  of  his  hand  upon  the  other  fellow's  palm 
under  him  with  full  force.  By  jing,  it's  the 
divil's  own  divarsion ;  for  you  might  as  well  get 
a  stroke  of  a  sledge  as  a  blow  from  one  of  them 
able,  hard-wgrking  fellows,  with  hands  upon  them 
like  limestone.  When  the  fellow  that's  down 
gets  it  hot  and  heavy,  the  man  that  struck  him 
stands  bent  in  his  place,  and  some  friend  of  the 
other  comes  down  upon  him,  and  pays  him  for 
what  the  other  fellow  got. 

The  next  play  they  went  to  was  the  Sitting 
Brogue.  This  is  played  by  a  ring  of  them  sitting 
down  upon  the  bare  ground,  keeping  their  knees 
up.  A  shoemaker's  leather  apron  is  then  got,  or 
a  good  stout  brogue,  and  sent  round  under  their 
knees.  In  the  manetime,  one  stands  in  the  mid- 
dle ;  and,  after  the  brogue  is  sent  round,  he  is  to 
catch  it  as  soon  as  he  can.  While  he  stands  there, 
of  coorse  his  back  must  be  to  some  one,  and  ac- 
cordingly those  that  are  behind  him  thump  him 
right  and  left  with  the  brogue,  while  he  all  the 
time  is  trying  to  catch  it.  Whoever  he  catches 
this  brogue  with  must  stand  up  in  his  place, 
while  he  sits  down  where  the  other  had  been,  and 
then  the  play  goes  on  as  before. 

There's  another  play  called  the  Standing  Brogue 
— where   one   man   gets   a   brogue   of   the   same 


Larry  McFarland's  Wake.  269 

kind,  and  another  stands  up  facing-  him  with  his 
hands  locked  together,  forming  an  arch  turned 
upside  down.  The  man  that  houlds  the  brogue 
then  strikes  him  with  it  betune  the  hands;  and 
even  the  smartest  fellow  receives  several  pelts  be- 
fore he  is  able  to  close  his  hands  and  catch  it ; 
but  when  he  does,  he  becomes  brogueman,  and 
the  man  who  held  the  brogue  stands  for  him  until 
he  catches  it.  The  same  thing  is  gone  through, 
from  one  to  another,  on  each  side,  until  it  is 
over. 

The  next  is  Frimsy  Framsy,  and  is  played  in 
this  manner:  a  chair  or  stool  is  placed  in  the 
middle  of  the  flure,  and  the  man  who  manages 
the  pkry  sits  down  upon  it,  and  calls  his  sweet- 
heart, or  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  house.  She  ac- 
cordingly comes  forward,  and  must  kiss  him. 
He  then  rises  up,  and  she  sits  down.  "  Come 
now,"  he  says,  "  fair  maid — Frimsy  Framsy,  who's 
your  fancy  ?  "  She  then  calls  them  she  likes  best, 
and,  when  the  young  man  she  calls  comes  over 
and  kisses  her,  he  then  takes  her  place,  and  calls 
another  girl — and  so  on,  smacking  away  for  a 
couple  of  hours.  Well,  throth,  it's  no  wonder  that 
Ireland's  full  of  people ;  for  I  believe  they  do 
nothing  but  coort  from  the  time  they're  the 
hoight  of  my  leg.  I  dunna  is  it  true,  as  I  hear 
Captain  Sloethorn's  steward  say,  that  the  English- 
women are  so  fond  of  Irishmen  ? 

"  Well,"  said  Andy  Morrow,  "  have  you  any 
more  of  their  sports,  Tom  ?  " 


270  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

"  Ay  have  I ;  one  of  the  best  and  pleasantest 
you  heard  yet." 

"  I  hope  there's  no  more  coorting  in  it,"  says 
Nancy.  "  God  knows,  we're  tired  of  their  kissing 
an'  marrying." 

"  Were  you  always  so  ? ' '  says  Ned,  across  the 
fire  to  her. 

"  Behave  yourself,  Ned,"  says  she;  "  don't  you 
make  me  spake;  sure  you  were  set  down  as  the 
greatest  brine-oge  that  was  ever  known  in  the 
parish  for  such  things." 

"  No ;  but  don't  you  make  me  spake,"  replies 
Ned. 

"  Here,  Biddy,"  said  Nancy,  "  bring  that  uncle 
of  )rours  another  pint;  that's  what  he  wants  most 
at  the  present  time,  I'm  thinking." 

Biddy  accordingly  complied  with  this. 

"  Don't  make  me  spake,"  continued  Ned. 

"  Come,  Ned,"  she  replied,  "  you've  a  fresh 
pint  now ;  so  drink  it,  and  give  no  more  gos- 
tlicry* 

"  Shuid-urth  /  "  f  says  Ned,  putting  the  pint  to 
his  head,  and  winking  slyly  at  the  rest. 

"A)',  wink;  in  troth  I'll  be  up  to  you  for  that, 
Ned,"  says  Nancy,  by  no  means  satisfied  that 
Ned  should  enter  into  particulars.  "  Well,  Tom," 
says  she,  diverting  the  conversation,  "  go  on,  and 
give  us  the  remainder  of  your  wake." 

Well,   says   Tom,  the  next  play  is  in   the   mil- 

*  Idle  talk — gossip. 

t  Shuid-urth— This  to  you,  or  upon  you  ;  a  form  of  drinking  healths. 


Larry  McFarland 's   Wake.  271 

intary  line.  You  see,  Mr.  Morrow,  the  man  that 
leads  the  sports  places  them  all  on  their  sates,  gets 
From  some  of  the  girls  a  white  handkerchief, 
which  he  ties  round  his  hat  as  you  would  tie  a 
piece  of  mourning ;  he  then  walks  round  them 
two  or  three  times  singing — 

Will  you  list  and  come  with  me,  fair  maid? 
Will  you  list  and  come  with  me,  fair  maid? 
Will  you  list  and  come  with  me,  fair  maid, 
And  folly  the  lad  with  the  white  cockade  ? 

When  he  sings  this,  he  takes  off  his  hat,  and  puts 
it  on  the  head  of  the  girl  he  likes  best,  who  rises 
up  and  puts  her  arm  round  him,  and  then  they 
both  go  about  in  the  same  way,  singing  the  same 
words.  She  then  puts  the  hat  on  some  young 
man,  who  gets  up  and  goes  round  with  them  sing- 
ing as  before.  He  next  puts  it  on  the  girl  he  loves 
best,  who,  after  singing  and  going  round  in  the 
same  manner,  puts  it  on  another,  and  he  on  his 
sweetheart,  and  so  on.  This  is  called  the  White 
Cockade.  When  it's  all  over,  that  is,  when  every 
young  man  has  pitched  upon  the  girl  that  he 
wishes  to  be  his  sweetheart,  they  sit  down,  and 
sing  songs,  and  coort,  as  they  did  at  the  marrying. 
After  this  comes  the  Weds  or  Forfeits,  or  what 
they  call  putting  round  the  button.  Every  one 
gives  in  a  forfeit — the  boys  a  neck-handkerchief  or 
a  pen-knife,  and  the  girls  a  pocket-handkerchief 
or  something  that  way.  The  forfeit  is  held  over 
them,  and  each  of  them  stoops  in  turn.     They  are 


272  Half  Hoars  with  Irish  Authors. 

then  compelled  to  command  the  person  that  owns 
that  forfeit  to  sing  a  song,  to  kiss  such  and  such 
a  girl,  or  to  carry  some  ould  man  with  his  legs 
about  their  neck  three  times  around  the  house, 
and  this  last  is  always  great  fun. ,  Or  may  be  a 
young,  upsetting  fellow  will  be  sent  to  kiss  some 
toothless,  slavering  ould  woman,  just  to  punish 
him  ;  or,  if  a  young  woman  is  any  way  saucy, 
she'll  have  to  kiss  some  ould,  withered  fellow,  his 
tongue  hanging  with  age  half-way  down  his  chin, 
and  the  tobacco-water  trickling  from  each  corner 
of  his  mouth. 

By  jingo,  many  a  time  when  the  friends  of  the 
corpse  would  be  breaking"  their  very  hearts  with 
grief  and  affliction  I  have  seen  them  obligated  to 
laugh  out  in  spite  of  themselves,  at  the  drollery 
of  the  mock  priest,  with  his  ould  black  coat  and 
wig  upon  him  •  and,  when  the  laughing-fit  would 
be  over,  to  see  them  rocking  themselves  again 
with  the  sorrow — so  sad.  The  best  man  for  man- 
aging such  sports  in  this  neighborhood  for  many 
a  year  was  Roger  M'Cann,  that  lives  up  as  you 
go  to  the  mountains.  You  wouldn't  begrudge  to 
go  ten  miles  the  coldest  winter  night  that  ever 
blew,  to  see  and  hear  Roger. 

There's  another  play  that  they  call  the  Priest 
of  the  Parish,  which  is  remarkably  pleasant.  One 
of  the  boys  gets  a  wig  upon  himself,  as  before, 
goes  out  on  the  iiure,  places  the  boys  in  a  row, 
calls  one  his  wan  Jack,  and  says  to  each,  "  What 
will  you  be  ?  "     One  answers,  "  I'll  be  black  cap" ; 


Lorry  McFarlancTs   Wake.  273 

another,  "  red  cap";  and  so  on.  He  then  says, 
"  The  priest  of  the  parish  has  lost  his  considhering 
cap — some  says  this  and  some  says  that,  but  I  say 
my  man  Jack !  "  Man  Jack,  then,  to  put  it  off 
himself,  says,  "  Is  it  me,  sir?"  "Yes,  you,  sir!  " 
"  You  lie,  sir  !"  "  Who  then,  sir  ?"  "Black  cap  !"  If 
black  cap  then  doesn't  say,  "  Is  it  me,  sir  ?"  before 
the  priest  has  time  to  call  him,  he  must  put  his 
hand  on  his  ham,  and  get  a  pelt  of  the  brogue.  A 
body  must  be  supple  with  the  tongue  in  it. 

After  this  comes  one  they  call  Horns,  or  the 
Painter.  A  droll  fellow  gets  a  lump  of  soot  or 
lampblack,  and,  after  fixing  a  ring  of  the  boys  and 
girls  about  him,  he  lays  his  two  fore-fingers  on  his 
knees,  and  says,  "  Horns,  horns,  cow-horns  !"  and 
then  raises  his  fingers  by  a  jerk  up  above  his 
head  ;  the  boys  and  girls  in  the  ring  then  do  the 
same,  for  the  meaning  of  the  play  is  this:  the 
man  with  the  black'ning  always  raises  his  finger 
every  time  he  names  an  animal;  but  if  he  names 
any  that  has  no  horns,  and  that  the  others  jerk  up 
their  fingers,  then  they  must  get  a  stroke  over  the 
face  with  the  soot.  "  Horns,  horns,  goat-horns!  " 
then  he  ups  with  his  finger  like  lightning  ;  they 
must  all  do  the  same,  bekase  a  goat  has  horns. 
"  Horns,  horns,  horse-horns !  " — he  ups  with  them 
again,  but  the  boys  and  girls  ought  not,  bekase  a 
horse  has  not  horns  ;  however,  any  one  that  raises 
them  then,  gets  a  slake.  So  that  it  all  comes  to 
this:  any  one,  you  see,  that  lifts  his  finger  when 
an  animal  is  named  that  has  no  horns,  or  any  one 


274  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

that  does  not  raise  them  when  a  baste  ismintioned 
that  has  horns,  will  get  a  mark.  It's  a  purty 
game,  and  requires  a  keen  eye  and  a  quick  hand  ; 
and  may  be  there's  not  fun  in  straiking  the  soot 
over  the  purty,  warm,  rosy  cheeks  of  the  colleens, 
while  their  eyes  are  dancing  with  delight  in  their 
heads,  and  their  sweet  breath  comes  over  so  plea- 
sant about  one's  face,  the  darlings  ! — och  !  och  ! 

There's  another  game  they  call  the  Silly  ould 
Man  that's  played  this  way :  a  ring  of  the  boys 
and  girls  is  made  on  the  flu  re — boy  and  girl  about 
— holding  one  another  by  the  hands ;  well  and 
good.  A  young  fellow  gets  into  the  middle  of  the 
ring,  as  "  the  silly  ould  man.".  There  he  stands  look- 
ing at  all  the  girls,  to  choose  a  wife,  and,  in  the 
manetime,   the  youngsters  of  the  ring  sing  out — 

Here's  a  silly  ould  man  that  lies  all  alone, 

That  lies  all  alone, 

That  lies  all  alone, 
Here's  a  silly  ould  man  that  lies  all  alone, 
He  wants  a  wife,  and  he  can  get  none. 

When  the  boys  and  girls  sing  this,  the  silly 
ould  man  must  choose  a  wife  from  some  of  the 
colleens  belonging  to  the  ring.  Having  made 
choice  of  her,  she  goes  into  the  ring  along  with 
him,  and  they  all  sing  out — 

Now,  young  couple,  you're  married  together, 

You're  married  together, 

You're  married  together, 
You  must  obey  )rour  father  and  mother, 
And  love  one  another  like  sister  and  brother— 
I  pray,  young  couple,  you'll  kiss  together! 


Larry  McFarlancTs   Wake.  275 

And  you  may  be  sure  this  part  of  the  marriage  is 
not  missed,  an)7 way. 

"  I  doubt,"  said  Andy  Morrow,  "that  good  can't 
come  of  so  much  kissing,  marrying,  and  coort- 
ing." 

The  narrator  twisted  his  mouth  knowingly,  and 
gave  a  significant  groan. 

"Be  dhe  husth*  hould  your  tongue,  Misther 
Morrow,"  said  he.  "  Biddy  avourneen,"  he  con- 
tinued, addressing  Biddy  and  Bessy,  "  and  Bessy, 
alannah,  just  take  a  friend's  advice,  and  never 
mind  going  to  wakes;  to  be  sure,  there's  plinty 
of  fun  and  divarsion  at  such  places,  but — healths 
apiece  !"  putting  the  pint  to  his  lips — "and  that's 
all  I  say  about  it." 

"Right  enough,  Tom,"' observed  Shane  Fadh. 
"  Sure  most  of  the  matches  are  planned  at  them, 
*and,  I  may  say,  mosi.  of  the  runaways,  too — poor 
young,  foolish  crathurs,  going  off  and  getting 
themselves  married,  then  bringing  small,  help- 
less families  upon  their  hands,  without  money  or 
manes  to  begin  the  world  with,  and  afterwards 
likely  to  eat  one  another  out  of  the  face  for  their 
foil}' ;  however,  there's  no  putting  ould  heads 
upon  young  shoulders,  and  I  doubt,  except  the 
wakes  are  stopped  altogether,  that  it'll  be  the 
ould  case  still." 

"  I  never  remember  being  at  a  counthry  wake," 
said  Andy  Morrow.  "  How  is  everything  laid 
out  in  the  house?" 

*  The  translation  follows  it  above. 


276  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

Sure  it's  to  you  I'm  telling  the  whole  story, 
Mr.  Morrow  ;  these  thieves  about  me  here  know 
all  about  it  as  well  as  I  do — the  house,  eh?  Why, 
you  see,  the  two  corpses  were  stretched  beside 
one  another,  washed,  and  laid  out.  There  were 
long  deal  boords,  with  their  ends  upon  two  stools, 
laid  over  the  bodies ;  the  boords  were  covered 
with  a  white  sheet  got  at  the  big  house,  so  the 
corpses  wern't  to  be  seen.  On  these,  again,  were 
placed  large  mould  candles,  plates  of  cut  tobacco, 
pipes,  and  snuff,  and  so  on.  Sometimes  corpses 
are  waked  in  a  bed,  with  their  faces  visible ;  when 
that  is  the  case,  white  sheets,  crosses,  and  some- 
times flowers  are  pinned  up  about  the  bed,  except 
in  the  front;  but  when  they're  undher  boord,  a 
set  of  ould  women  sit  smoking  and  rocking  them- 
selves from  side  to  side,  quite  sorrowful — these 
are  kccncrs— friends  or  relations ;  and  when  every 
one  connected  with  the  dead  comes  in,  they  raise 
the  keene,  like  a  song  of  sorrow,  wailing  and  clap- 
ping their  hands. 

The  furniture  is  mostly  removed,  and  sates 
made  round  the  walls,  where  the  neighbors  sit 
smoking,  chatting,  and  gosthering.  The  best  of 
aiting  and  dhrinking  that  they  can  afford  is  pro- 
vided ;  and,  indeed,  there  is  generally  open  house, 
for  it's  unknown  how  people  injure  themselves  by 
their  kindness  and  waste  at  christening,  weddings, 
and  wakes. 

In  regard  to  poor  Larry's  wake — we  had  all 
this,  and   more  at  it;  for,  as  I   obsarved  a   while 


Larry  McFarlancTs   Wake.  277 

agone,  the  man  had  made  himself  no  friends  when 
he  was  living,  and  the  neighbors  gave  a  loose  to 
all  kinds  of  divilment  when  he  was  dead.  Al- 
though there's  no  man  would  be  guilty  of  any 
disrespect  where  the  dead  are,  yet,  when  a  person 
has  led  a  good  life,  and  conducted  themselves 
dacently  and  honestly,  the  young  people  of  the 
neighborhood  show  their  respect  by  going  through 
their  little  plays  and  divarsions  quieter  and  with 
less  noise,  lest  they  may  give  any  offince  ;  but,  as 
I  said,  whenever  the  person  didn't  live  as  they 
ought  to  do,  there's  no  stop  to  their  noise  and 
rollikin* 

When  it  drew  near  morning,  every  one  of  us 
took  his  sweetheart,  and,  after  convoying  her 
home,  we  went  to  our  own  houses  to  get  a 
little  sleep.  So  that  was  the  end  of  poor  Larry 
McFarland  and  his  wife  Sally  Lowry. 

"  Success,  Tom  !"  said  Bill  M'Kinny  ;  "  take  a 
pull  of  the  malt  now,  afther  the  story,  your  soul ! 
But  what  was  the  funeral  like  ?" 

"  Why,  then,  a  poor  berrin  it  was,"  said  Tom  ; 
"a  miserable  sight,  God  knows— just  a  few  of  the 
neighbors  ;  for  those  that  used  to  take  his  thrate, 
and  while  he  had  a  shilling  in  his  pocket  blarney 
him  up,  not  one  of  the  skulking  thieves  showed 
their  faces  at  it — a  good  warning  to  foolish  men 
that  throw  their  money  down  throats  that  haven't 
hearts  anundher  them.  But,  boys,  /  desarve 
another  thrate,  I  think,  afther  my  story!"     This, 

*  Uproariousncss. 


278  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

we  need  scarcely  add,  he  was  supplied  with,  and, 
after  some  further  desultory  chat,  they  again 
separated,  with  the  intention  of  reassembling  at 
Ned's  on  the  following  night. 


CHARLES   LEVER. 


Charles  Lever. 


THE    DOCTOR'S   TALE; 


I 


T  is  now  fifteen  years  since — if  it  wasn't  for 
O'Shaughnessy's  wrinkles,  I  could  not  believe 
it  five — we  were  quartered  in  Loughrea  ;  there 
were,  besides  our  regiment,  the  Fiftieth,  and  the 
Seventy-third,  and  a  troop  or  two  of  horse-artil- 
lery, and  the  whole  town  was  literally  a  barrack, 
and,  as  you  may  suppose,  the  pleasantest  place 
imaginable.  All  the  young  ladies,  and  indeed  all 
those  that  had  got  their  brevet  some  years  before, 
came  flocking  into  the  town,  not  knowing  but  the 
devil  might  persuade  a  raw  ensign  or  so  to  marry 
some  of  them. 

Such  dinner  parties,  such  routs,  and  balls  never 
were  heard  of  west  of  Athlone.  The  gaieties 
were  incessant ;  and,  if  good  feeling,  plenty  of 
claret,  short  whist,  country  dances,  and  kissing 
could  have  done  the  thing,  there  wouldn't  have 

*  I  cannot  permit  the  reader  to  fall  into  the  same  blunder  with  regard  to  the 
worthy  "Maurice"  that  mj-  friend  Charles  O'Malley  has  done.  It  is  only 
fair  to  state  that  the  doctor,  in  the  following  tale,  was  hoaxing  the  dragoon. 
A  braver  and  a  better  fellow  than  Quill  never  existed;  equally  beloved  by 
his  brother  officers,  as  delighted  in  for  his  convivial  talents.  His  favorite 
amusement  was  to  invent  some  story  or  adventure,  in  which,  mixing  up  his 
own  name  with  that  of  some  friend  or  companion,  the  veracity  of  the  whole 
was  never  questioned.  Of  this  nature  was  the  pedigree  he  devised  in  the 
last  chapter  to  impose  upon  O'Malley,  who  believed  implicity  all  he  told 
him.  h.  l. 


282  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

been  a  bachelor  with  a  red  coat  for  six  miles 
around. 

You  know  the  west,  O'Mealy,  so  I  needn't  tell 
you  what  the  Galway  girls  are  like  ;  fine,  hearty, 
free-and-easy,  talking,  laughing  devils,  but  as 
deep  and  as  cute  as  a  master  in  chancery  ;  ready 
for  any  fun  or  merriment,  but  always  keeping  a 
sly  lookout  for  a  proposal  or  a  tender  acknow- 
ledgment, which — what  between  the  heat  of  a 
ball-room,  whiskey-negus,  white  satin  shoes,  and 
a  quarrel  with  your  guardian — it's  ten  to  one  you 
fall  into  before  you're  a  week  in  the  same  town 
with  them. 

As  for  the  men,  I  don't  admire  them  so  much  ; 
pleasant  and  cheerful  enough,  when  they're  handi- 
capping the  coat  off  your  back  and  your  new  til- 
bury for  a  spavined  pony  and  a  cotton  umbrella, 
but  regular  devils  if  you  come  to  cross  them  the 
least  in  life  ;  nothing  but  ten  paces — three  shots 
apiece — to  begin  and  end  with  something  like 
Roger  de  Coverly,  when  every  one  has  a  pull  at 
his  neighbor.  I'm  not  saying  they're  not  agree- 
able, well  informed,  and  mild  in  their  habits;  but 
they  lean  overmuch  to  corduroys  and  coroner's 
inquests  for  one's  taste  further  south.  However, 
they're  a  fine  people,  take  them  all  in  all;  and,  if 
the)*  were  not  interfered  with,  and  their  national 
customs  invaded  with  road-making,  petty  sessions, 
grand-jury  laws,  and  a  stray  commission  now  and 
then,  they  are  capable  of  great  things  and  would 
astonish  the  world. 


The  Doctor  s  Tale.  283 

But,  as  I  was  saying-,  we  were  ordered  to 
Lousrhrea,  after  being  fifteen  months  in  detach- 
ments  about  Bin.  Tullamore,  Kilbeggan,  and  all 
that  country  ;  the  change  was  indeed  a  delightful 
one,  and  we  soon  found  ourselves  the  centre  of 
the  most  marked  and  determined  civilities.  I  told 
you  they  were  wise  people  in  the  west ;  this  was 
their  calculation ;  the  line — ours  was  the  Ros- 
common militia — are  here  to-day,  there  to-mor- 
row ;  they  may  be  flirting  in  Tralee  this  week, 
and  fighting  on  the  Tagus  the  next';  not  that  there 
was  any  fighting  there  in  those  times,  but  then 
there  was  always  Nova  Scotia,  and  St.  John's, 
and  a  hundred  other  places  that  a  Galway  young 
lady  knew  nothing  about,  except  that  people 
never  came  back  from  them.  Now,  what  good, 
what  use  was  there  in  falling  in  love  with  them, 
mere  transitory  and  passing  pleasures  that  was? 
But  as  for  us,  there  we  were ;  if  not  in  Kilkenny, 
we  were  in  Cork.  Save  cut  and  come  again,  no 
getting  away  under  pretence  of  foreign  service ; 
no  excuse  for  not  marrying  by  any  cruel  pictures 
of  the'  colonies,  where  they  make  spatch-cocks  of 
the  officers'  wives,  and  scrape  their  infant  families 
to  death  with  a  small  tooth  comb.  In  a  word, 
my  dear  O'Mealej',  we  were  at  a  high  premium  ; 
and  even  O'Shaughnessy,  with  his  red  head  and 
the  legs  you  see,  had  his  admirers — there  now, 
don't  be  angry,  Dan,  the  men,  at  least,  were 
mighty  partial  to  you. 

Lough  rea,  if  it  was  a  pleasant,  was  a  very  ex- 


284  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

pensive  place.  White  gloves  and  car-hire — there 
wasn't  a  chaise  in  the  town — short  whist,  too 
(God  forgive  me,  if  I  wrong  them  !  but  I  wonder 
were  they  honest  ?),  cost  money  ;  and  as  our  pop- 
ularity rose  our  purses  fell,  till  at  length,  when 
the  one  was  at  the  flood,  the  other  was  something 
very  like  low  water: 

Now,  the  Roscommon  was  a  beautiful  corps ; 
no  petty  jealousies,  no  little  squabbling  among 
the  officers,  no  small  spleen  between  the  major's 
wife  and  the  paymaster's  sister  ;  all  was  amiable, 
kind,  brotherly,  and  affectionate.  To  proceed.  I 
need  only  mention  one  fine  trait  of  them — no  man 
ever  refused  to  endorse  a  brother  officer's  bill. 
To  think  of  asking  the  amount,  or  even  the  date, 
would  be  taken  personally  ;  and  thus  we  went  on 
mutually  aiding  and  assisting  each  other,  the 
colonel  drawing  on  me,  I  on  the  major,  the  sen- 
ior captain  on  the  surgeon,  and  so  on,  a  regular 
cross-fire  of  "  promises  to  pay,"  all  stamped  and 
regular. 

Not  but  that  the  system  had  its  inconveniences  ; 
for  sometimes  an  obstinate  tailor  or  bootmaker 
would  make  a  row  for  his  money,  and  then  we'd 
be  obliged  to  get  up  a  little  quarrel  between  the 
drawer  and  accepter  of  the  bill ;  they  couldn't 
speak  for  some  days  ;  and  a  mutual  friend  to  both 
would  tell  the  creditor  that  the  slightest  impru- 
dence on  his  part  would  lead  to  bloodshed  ;  and 
— the  Lord  help  him  ! — if  there  was  a  duel,  he'd  be 
proved  the  whole  cause  of  it.     This  and  twenty 


The  Doctor  s  Tale.  285 

other  plans  were  employed,  and  finally  the  mat- 
ter would  be  left  to  arbitration  among  our  brother 
officers  ;  and,  I  need  not  say,  they  behaved  like 
trumps.  But,  notwithstanding  all  this,  we  were 
frequently  hard  pressed  for  cash  ;  as  the  colonel 
said,  "  It's  a  mighty  expensive  corps."  Our  dress 
was  costly,  not  that  it  had  much  lace  and  gold  on 
it,  but  that,  what  between  falling  on  the  road  at 
night,  shindies  at  mess,  and  other  devilment,  a 
coat  lasted  no  time.  Wine,  too,  was  heavy  on 
us ;  for,  though  we  often  changed  our  wine  mer- 
chant, and  rarely  paid  him,  there  was  an  awful 
consumption  at  the  mess  ! 

Now,  what  I  have  mentioned  may  prepare  you 
for  the  fact  that,  before  we  were  eight  weeks  in 
garrison,  Shaugh  and  myself,  upon  an  accurate 
calculation  of  our  conjoint  finances,  discovered 
that,  except  some  vague  promises  of  discounting 
here  and  there  through  the  town,  and  seven  and 
fourpence  in  specie,  we  were  innocent  of  any  pe- 
cuniary treasures.  This  was  embarrassing  ;  we 
had  both  embarked  in  several  small  schemes  of 
pleasurable  amusement — had  a  couple  of  hunters 
each,  a  tandem,  and  a  running  account — I  think  it 
galloped — at  every  shop  in  the  town. 

Let  me  pause  for  a  moment  here,  O'Mealey, 
while  I  moralize  a  little  in  a  strain  I  hope  may 
benefit  you.  Have  you  ever  considered — of 
course  you  have  not,  you're  too  young  and  unre- 
flecting— how  beautifully  every  climate  and  every 
soil  possesses  some  one  antidote  or  another  to  its 


286  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

own  noxious  influences?  The  tropics  have  their 
succulent  and  juicy  fruits,  cooling  and  refreshing; 
the  northern  latitudes  have  their  beasts  with  fur 
and  warm  skins  to  keep  out  the  frost-bites  ;  and  so 
it  is  in  Ireland.  Now  here  on  the  face  of  the  habi- 
table globe  does  a  man  contract  such  habits  of 
small  debt,  and  nowhere,  I'll  be  sworn,  can  he  so 
easily  get  out  of  any  scrape  concerning  them. 
They  have  their  tigers  in  the  east,  their  antelopes 
in  the  south,  their  white  bears  in  Norway,  their 
buffaloes  in  America ;  but  we  have  an  animal  in 
Ireland  that  beats  them  all  hollow — a  country  at- 
torney. 

Now,  let  me  introduce  you  to  Mr.  Matthew 
Donevan.  Mat,  as  he  was  familiarly  called  *by 
his  numerous  acquaintances,  was  a  short,  florid, 
rosy  little  gentleman,  of  some  four  or  five  and 
forty,  with  a  well-curled  wig  of  the  fairest  imagin- 
able auburn,  the  gentle  wave  of  the  front  locks 
which  played  in  infantine  loveliness  upon  his  little 
bullet  forehead  contrasting  strongly  enough  with 
a  cunning  leer  of  his  eye,  and  a  certain  nisi prius 
laugh  that,  however  it  might  please  a  client, 
rarely  brought  pleasurable  feelings  to  his  oppo- 
nent in  a  cause. 

Mat  was  a  character  in  his  way  ;  deep,  double, 
and  tricky  in  everything  that  concerned  his  pro- 
fession, he  affected  the  gay  fellow — liked  a  jolly 
dinner  at  Brown's  hotel,  would  go  twenty  miles 
to  see  a  steeple-chase  and  a  coursing-match,  bet 
with  any  one  when  the  odds  were  strong  in  his 


The  Doctor  s  Tale.  287 

favor,  with  an  easy  indifference  about  money  that 
made  him  seem,  when  winning,  rather  the  victim 
of  good  luck  than  anything  else.  As  he  kept  a 
rather  pleasant  bachelor's  house,  and  liked  the 
military  much,  we  soon  became  acquainted. 
Upon  him,  therefore,  for  reasons  I  can't  explain, 
both  our  hopes  reposed  ;  and  Shaugh  and  myself 
at  once  agreed  that,  if  Mat  could  not  assist  us  in 
our  distresses,  the  'case  was  a  bad  one. 

A  pretty  little  epistle  was  accordingly  con- 
cocted, inviting  the  worthy  attorney  to  a  small 
dinner  at  five  o'clock  the  next  day,  intimating 
that  we  were  to  be  perfectly  alone,  and  had  a 
little  business  to  discuss.  True  to  the  hour,  Mat 
was  there,  and,  as  if  instantly  guessing  that  ours 
was  no  party  of  pleasure,  his  look,  dress,  and  man- 
ner were  all  in  keeping  with  the  occasion — quiet, 
subdued,  and  searching. 

When  the  claret  had  been  superseded  by  the 
whiskey,  and  the  confidential  hours  were  ap- 
proaching, by  an  adroit  allusion  to  some  heavy 
wager  then  pending  we  brought  our  finances  upon 
the  tapis.  The  thing  was  done  beautifully  ;  an  easy 
adagio  movement — no  violent  transition — but  hang 
me  if  old  Mat  didn't  catch  the  matter  at  once. 

"  Oh  !  it's  there  ye  are,  captain,"  said  he,  with 
his  peculiar  grin  ;  "  two  and  sixpence  in  the 
pound,  and  no  assets." 

"  The  last  is  nearer  the  mark,  my  old  boy,"  said 
Shaugh,  blurting  out  the  whole  truth  at  once. 
The  wily  attorney  finished  his  tumbler  slowly,  as  if 


288  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

giving  himself  time  for  reflection,  and  then,  smack- 
ing his  lips  in  a  preparatory  manner,  took  a  quick 
survey  of  the  room  with  his  piercing  green  eye. 

"  A  very  sweet  mare  of  yours  that  little  mouse- 
colored  one  is,  with  the  dip  in  the  back ;  and  she 
has  a  trifling  curb — may  be  it's  a  spavin,  indeed — 
in  the  near  hind  leg.  You  gave  five  and  twenty 
for  her,  now,  I'll  be  bound  ? " 

"  Sixty  guineas,  as  sure  as  my  name's  Dan !  " 
said  Shaugh,  not  at  all  pleased  at  the  value  put 
upon  his  hackney  ;  "  and,  as  to  spavin  or  curb,  I'll 
wager  double  the  sum  she  has  neither  the  slight- 
est trace  of  one  nor  the  other." 

"  I'll  not  take  the  bet,"  said  Mat  dryly ; 
"  money's  scarce  in  these  parts." 

This  hit  silenced  us  both,  and  our  friend  con- 
tinued : 

"  Then  there's  the  bay  horse,  a  great  strapping, 
leggy  beast  he  is  for  a  tilbury  ;  and  the  hunters, 
worth  nothing  here  ;  they  don't  know  this  coun- 
try— them's  neat  pistols — and  the  tilbury  is  not 
bad—" 

"  Confound  you  !  "  said  I,  losing  all  patience. 
"  We  didn't  ask  you  here  to  appraise  our  mov- 
ables ;  we  want  to  raise  the  wind  without  that." 

"  I  see — I  perceive,"  said  Mat,  taking  a  pinch 
of  snuff  very  leisurely  as  he  spoke — "  I  see.  Well, 
that  is  difficult,  very  difficult  just  now.  I've 
mortgaged  every  acre  of  ground  in  the  two  coun- 
ties near  us,  and  a  sixpence  more  is  not  to  be  had 
that  way.     Are  you  lucky  at  the  races?  " 


The  Doctor's  Tale.  289 

"  Never  win  a  sixpence." 

"  What  can  you  do  at  whist  ?  " 

"  Revoke,  and  get  cursed  by  my  partner;  devil 
a  more." 

"  That's  mighty  bad,  for  otherwise  we  might 
arrange  something  for  you.  Well,  I  only  see  one 
thing  for  it ;  you  must  marry ;  a  wife  with  some 
money  will  get  you  out  of  your  present  difficul- 
ties, and  we'll  manage  that  easily  enough." 

"  Come,  Dan,"  said  I,  for  Shaugh  was  dropping 
asleep,  "  cheer  up,  old  fellow  !  Donevan  has  found 
the  way  to  pull  us  through  our  misfortunes.  A 
girl  with  forty  thousand  pounds,  the  best  cock- 
shooting  in  Ireland,  an  old  family,  a  Gapital  cel- 
lar, all  await  ye — rouse  up  there  !  " 

"  I'm  ,convanient,"  said  Shaugh,  with  a  look  in- 
tended to  be  knowing,  but  really  very  tipsy. 

"  I  didn't  say  much  for  her  personal  attrac- 
tions, captain,"  said  Mat;  "nor, indeed,  did  I  spe- 
cify the  exact  sum  ;  but  Mrs.  Rogers  Dooley,  of 
Clonakilty,  might  be  a  princess — " 

"  And  so  she  shall  be,  Mat ;  the  O'Shaughnes- 
sys  were  kings  of  Ennis  in  the  time  of  Nero  ;  and 
I'm  only  waiting  for  a  trifle  of  money  to  revive 
the  title.     What's  her  name  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Rogers  Dooley." 

"  Here's  her  health,  and  long  life  to  her — 

'  And  may  the  devil  cut  the  toes 
Of  all  her  foes, 
That  we  may  know  them  by  their  limping.'" 

This    benevolent   wish    uttered,   Dan   fell  flat 


290  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

upon  the  hearth-rug,  and  was  soon  sound  asleep. 
I  must  hasten  on;  so  need  only  say  that,  before 
we  parted  that  night,  Mat  and  myself  had  finished 
the  half-gallon  bottle  of  Loughrea  whiskey,  and 
concluded  a  treaty  for  the  hand  and  fortune  of 
Mrs.  Rogers  Dooley ;  he  being  guaranteed  a  very 
handsome  percentage  on  the  property,  and  the 
lady  being  reserved  for  choice  between  Dan  and 
myself,  which,  however,  I  was  determined  should 
fall  upon  my  more  fortunate  friend. 

The  first  object  which  presented  itself  to  my 
aching  senses  the  following  morning  was  a  very 
spacious  card  of  invitation  from  Mr.  Jonas  Malone, 
requesting  me  to  favor  him  with  the  seductions  of 
my  society  the  next  evening  at  a  ball ;  at  the  bot- 
tom of  which,  in  Mr.  Donevan's  hand,  I  read  : 

"  Don't  fail ;  you  know  who  is  to  be  there. 
I've  not  been  idle  since  I  saw  you.  Would  the 
captain  take  twenty-five  for  the  mare?" 

So  far  so  good,  thought  I,  as,  entering 
O'Shaughnessy's  quarters,  I  discovered  him 
endeavoring  to  spell  out  his  card,  which,  however, 
had  no  postscript.  We  soon  agreed  that  Mat 
should  have  his  price  ;  so,  sending  a  polite  answer 
to  the  invitation,  we  despatched  a  still  more  civil 
note  to  the  attorney,  and  begged  of  him,  as  a  weak 
mark  of  esteem,  to  except  the  mouse-colored 
mare  as  a  present. 

Here  O'Shaughnessy  sighed  deeply,  and  even 
seemed  affected  by  the  souvenir. 

"  Come,  Dan,  we  did    it    all    for  the  best.     O 


The  Doctor  s  Talc.  291 

O'Mealey,  he  was  a  cunning  fellow — but  no 
matter.  We  went  to  the  ball,  and,  to  be  sure,  it 
was  a  great  sight.  Two  hundred  and  fifty  souls, 
where  there  was  not  good  room  for  the  odd  fifty  ; 
such  laughing,  such  squeezing,  such  pressing  of 
hands  and  waists  in  the  staircase  !  And  then  such 
a  row  and  riot  at  the  top — four  fiddles,  a  key  bugle, 
and  a  bagpipe  playing  "  Haste  to  the  wedding," 
amid  the  crash  of  refreshment  trays,  the  tramp  of 
feet,  and  the  sounds  of  merriment  on  all  sides ! 

It's  only  in  Ireland,  after  all,  people  have  fun. 
Old  and  young,  merry  and  morose,  the  gay  and 
cross-grained — are  crammed  into  a  lively  country 
dance ;  and,  ill-matched,  ill-suited,  go  jigging 
away  together  to  the  blast  of  a  bad  band,  till  their 
heads,  half  turned  by  the  noise,  the  heat,  the 
novelty,  and  the  hubbub,  they  all  get  as  tipsy  as 
if  they  were  really  deep  in  liquor. 

Then  there  is  that  particularly  free-and-easy 
tone  in  every  one  about ;  here  go  a  couple  caper- 
ing daintily  out  of  the  ball-room  to  take  a  little 
fresh  air  on  the  stairs,  where  every  step  has  its 
own  separate  flirtation  party ;  there  a  riotous  old 
gentleman,  with  a  boarding-school  girl  for  his 
partner,  has  plunged  smack  into  a  party  at  loo, 
upsetting  cards  and  counters,  and  drawing  down 
curses  innumerable ;  here  are  a  merry  knot 
round  the  refreshments,  and  well  they  may  be ; 
for  the  negus  is  strong  punch,  and  the  biscuit  is 
tipsy  cake — and  all  this  with  a  running  fire  of 
good  stories,  jokes,  and  witticisms  on  all  sides,  in 


29-  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

the  laughter  at  which  even  the  droll-looking 
servants  join  as  heartily  as  the  rest. 

We  were  not  long  in  finding  out  Mrs.  Rogers, 
who  sat  in  the  middle  of  a' very  high  sofa,  with 
her  feet  just  touching  the  floor.  She  was  short, 
fat,  wore  her  hair  in  a  drop,  had  a  species  of 
shining-yellow  skin,  and  a  turned-up  nose,  all  of 
which  were  by  no  means  prepossessing.  Shaugh 
and  myself  were  too  hard-up  to  be  particular,  and 
so  we  invited  her  to  dance  alternately  for  two 
consecutive  hours,  plying  her  assiduously  with 
negus  during  the  lulls  of  the  music. 

Supper  was  at  last  announced,  and  enabled  us 
to  recruit  for  new  efforts;  and  so,  after  an  awful 
consumption  of  fowl,  pigeon-pie, "ham,  and  bran- 
died  cherries,  Mrs.  Rogers  brightened  up  con- 
siderably, and  professed  her  willingness  to  join  the 
dancers.  As  for  us,  partly  from  exhaustion,  part- 
ly to  stimulate  our  energies,  and  in  some  degree 
to  drown  reflection,  we  drank  deep,  and,  when  we 
reached  the  drawing-room,  not  only  the  agree- 
able guests  themselves,  but  even  the  furniture,  the 
venerable  chairs,  and  the  stiff  old  sofa  seemed  per- 
forming "  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley."  How  we  con- 
ducted ourselves  till  five  in  the  morning  let  our 
cramps  confess ;  for  we  were  both  bed-ridden  for 
ten  days  after.  However,  at  last,  Mrs.  Rogers 
gave  in  ;  and,  reclining  gracefully  upon  a  window- 
seat,  pronounced  it  a  most  elegant  party  and 
asked  me  to  look  for  her  shawl.  While  I  peram- 
bulated the  staircase  with  her  bonnet  on  my  head, 


The  Doctor  s  Talc.  293 

and  more  wearing  apparel  than  would  stock  a 
magazine,  Shaugh  was  roaring  himself  hoarse 
calling  Mrs.  Rogers's  coach. 

"  Sure,  captain,"  said  the  lady,  with  a  tender 
leer,  "  it's  only  a  chair." 

"  And  here  it  is,"  said  I,  surveying  a  very  port- 
ly looking  old  sedan,  newly  painted  and  varnished, 
which  blocked  up  half  the  hall. 

"  You'll  catch  cold,  my  angel,"  said  Shaugh,  in 
a  whisper,  for  he  was  coming-  it  very  strong  by 
this;  "get  into  the  chair.  Maurice,  can't  you 
find  those  fellows?"  said  he  to  me;  for  the  chair- 
men had  gone  down-stairs,  and  were  making  very 
merry  among  the  servants. 

"  She's  fast  now,"  said  I,  shutting  the  door  to. 
"  Let  us  do  the  gallant  thing,  and  carry  her  home 
ourselves.'  Shaugh  thought  this  a  great  notion  ; 
and,  in  a  minute,  we  mounted  the  poles,  and  sal- 
lied forth,  amid  a  great  chorus  of  laughing  from 
all  the  footmen,  maids,  and  tea-boys  that  filled  the 
passage. 

"  The  big  house  with  the  bow  window  and 
the  pillars,  captain,"  said  a  fellow,  as  we  issued 
upon  our  journey. 

"  I  know  it,"  said  I.  "  Turn  to  the  left  after 
you  pass  the  square." 

"  Isn't  she  heavy  ?"  said  Shaugh,  as  he  meander- 
ed across  the  narrow  street  with  a  sidelong 
motion  that  must  have  suggested  to  our  fair 
inside  passenger  some  notions  of  a  sea  voyage.  I 
truth,  I  must  confess,  her  progress  was  rather  a 


294  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

devious  one  ;  now  zigzagging  from  side  to  side, 
now  getting  into  a  sharp  trot,  and  then  suddenly 
pulling  up  at  a  dead  stop,  or  running  the  machine 
chuck  against  a  wall,  to  enable  us  to  stand  still 
and  gain  breath. 

"  Which  way  now?"  cried  he,  as  we  swung 
round  the  angle  of  the  street,  and  entered  the 
large  market-place.     "  I  'm  getting  terribly  tired." 

"  Never  give  in,  Dan ;  think  of  Clonakilty, 
and  the  old  lady  herself" — and  here  I  gave  the 
chair  a  hoist  that  evidently  astonished  our  fair 
friend,  for  a  very  imploring  cry  issued  forth 
immediately  after. 

"  To  the  right,  quick-step,  forward — charge  !" 
cried  I  ;  and  we  set  off  at  a  brisk  trot  down  a 
steep,  narrow  lane. 

"  Here  it  is  now — the  light  in  the  window  ; 
cheer  up  !" 

As  I  said  this,  we  came  shortly  up  to  a  fine, 
portly  looking  doorway  with  great  stone  pillars 
and  cornice. 

"  Make  yourself  at  home,  Maurice,"  said  he  ; 
"  bring  her  in."  And  so  saying,  we  pushed  forward, 
for  the  door  was  open,  and  passed  boldly  into  a 
great  flagged  hall,  silent  and  cold,  and  dark  as 
the  night  itself. 

"  Are  you  sure  we're  right?"  said  he. 

"  All  right,"  said  I  ;  "  go  ahead." 

And  so  we  did  till  we  came  in  sight  of  a  small 
candle  that  burned  dimly  at  a  distance  from  us. 

"  Make  for  the  light,"  said  I ;  but,  just  as  I  said 


The  Doctor  s  Talc.  295 

so,  Shaugh  slipped  and  fell  flat  on  the  flagway  ; 
the  noise  of  his  fall  sent  up  a  hundred  echoes  in 
the  silent  building,  and  terrified  us  both  dread- 
fully ;  and,  after  a  minute's  pause,  by  one  consent, 
we  turned  and  made  for  the  door,  falling  almost 
at  every  step,  and  frightened  out  of  our  senses ; 
we  came  tumbling  together  into  the  porch,  and 
out  into  the  street,  and  never  drew  breath  till  we 
reached  the  barracks.  Meanwhile,  let  me  return 
to  Mrs.  Rogers.  The  dear  old  lady,  who  had 
passed  an  awful  time  since  she  left  the  ball,  had 
just  rallied  out  of  a  fainting  fit  when  we  took  to 
our  heels  ;  so,  after  screaming  and  crying  her  best, 
she  at  last  managed  to  open  the  top  of  the  chair, 
and,  by  dint  of  great  exertions,  succeeded  in  forc- 
ing the  door,  and  at  length  freed  herself  from 
bondage.  She  was  leisurely  groping  her  way 
round  it  in  the  dark,  when  her  lamentations  being 
heard  without  woke  up  the  old  sexton  of  the 
chapel — for  it  was  there  we  placed  her — who,  en- 
tering cautiously  with  a  light,  no  sooner  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  great  black  sedan  and  the  figure 
beside  it  than  he  also  took  to  his  heels,  and  ran 
like  a  madman  to  the  priest's  house. 

'•  Come,  your  reverence,  come,  for  the  love  of 
marcy !  Sure  didn't  I  see  him  myself?  O  vvirra, 
wirra  !" 

"  What  is  it,  ye  ould  fool  ?"   said  M'Kenny. 

"  It's  Father  Con  Doran,  your  reverence,  that 
was  buried  last  week,  and  there  he  is  up  now,  coffin 
and  all,  saying  a  midnight  mass  as  lively  as  ever  !" 


296  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

Poor  Mrs.  Rogers,  God  help  her!  It  was  a 
trying  sight  for  her,  when  the  priest  and  the  two 
coadjutors,  and  the  three  little  boys  and  the 
sexton,  all  came  in  to  lay  her  spirit ;  and  the  shock 
she  received  that  night  they  say  she  never  got 
over. 

Need  I  say,  my  dear  O'Mealey,  that  our  ac- 
quaintance with  Mrs.  Rogers  was  closed  ?  The 
dear  woman  had  a  hard  struggle  for  it  afterwards  : 
her  character  was  assailed  by  all  the  elder l_v 
ladies  in  Loughrea  for  going  off  in  our  company, 
and  her  blue  satin  piped  with  scarlet,  utterly- 
ruined  by  a  deluge  of  holy  water  bestowed  on 
her  by  the  pious  sexton.  It  was  in  vain  that  she 
originated  twenty  different  reports  to  mystify  the 
world  ;  and  even  ten  pounds  spent  in  masses  for 
the  eternal  repose  of  Father  Con  Doran  only  in- 
creased the  laughter  this  unfortunate  affair  gave 
rise  to.  As  for  us,  we  exchanged  into  the  line, 
and  foreign  service  took  us  out  of  the  road  of 
duns,  debts,  and  devilment,  and  we  soon  reform- 
ed, and  eschewed  such  low  company. 


THE  ADJUTANT'S  COURTSHIP. 


IT  is  now  about  eight  years,  may  be  ten  years } 
since  that  we  were  ordered  to  march  from 
Belfast  and  take  up  our  quarters  in  London- 
derry. We  had  not  been  more  than  a  few  weeks 
altogether  in  Ulster  when  the  order  came  ;  and 
as  we  had  been,  for  the  preceding  two  years, 
doing  duty  in  the  south  and  west,  we  concluded 
that  the  island  was  tolerably  the  same  in  all  parts. 
We  opened  our  campaign  in  the  maiden  city  ex- 
actly as  we  had  been  doing  with  "  unparalleled 
success  "  in  Cashel,  Fermoy,  Tuam,  etc.;  that  is  to 
say,  we  announced  garrison  balls,  and  private 
theatricals ;  offered  a  cup  to  be  run  for  in  steeple- 
chase ;  turned  out  a  four-in-hand  drag,  with  mot- 
tled grays ;  and  brought  over  two  deal  boats  to 
challenge  the  north. 

"The  1 8th  found  the  place  stupid,"  said  we. 

To  be  sure  they  did  ;  slow  fellows  like  them 
must  find  any  place  stupid.  No  dinners  ;  but 
they  gave  none.  No  fun  ;  but  they  had  none  in 
themselves.  In  fact,  we  knew  better  ;  we  under- 
stood how  the  thing  was  to  be  done,  and  resolved 
that,  as  a  mine  of  rich  ore  lay  un worked,  it  was 
reserved  for  us  to  produce  the  shining  metal  that 


298  Half  Hours  ivitJi  Irish  Authors. 

others  less  discerning-  had  failed  to  discover.  Lit- 
tle we  knew  of  the  matter  ;  never  was  there  a 
blunder  like  ours.     Were  you  ever  in  Derry  ? 

"  Never,"  said  the  listeners. 

Well,  then,  let  me  inform  you  that  the  place  has 
its  own  peculiar  features.  In  the  first  place,  all 
the  large  towns  in  the  south  and  west  have,  be- 
sides the  country  neighborhood  that  surrounds 
them,  a  certain  sprinkling  of  gentlefolk  who, 
though  with  small  fortunes  and  not  much  usage 
of  the  world,  are  still  a  great  accession  to  society, 
and  make  up  the  blank  which,  even  in  the  most 
thickly  peopled  country,  would  be  sadly  felt 
without  them.  Now,  in  Derry,  there  is  none  of 
this.  After  the  great  guns — and,  per  Baccho  ! 
what  great  guns  are  they  ! — you  have  nothing  but 
the  men  engaged  in  commerce — sharp,  clever, 
shrewd,  well-informed  fellows;  they  are  deep  in 
flax-seed,  cunning  in  molasses,  and  not  to  be  ex- 
celled in  all  that  pertains  to  coffee,  sassafras,  cin- 
namon, gum,  oakum,  and  elephants'  teeth.  The 
place  is  a  rich  one,  and  the  spirit  of  commerce  is 
felt  throughout  it.  Nothing  is  cared  for,  nothing 
is  talked  of,  nothing  alluded  to,  that  does  not  bear 
upon  this;  and,  in  fact,  if  you  haven't  a  venture 
in  Smyrna  figs,  Memel  timber,  Dutch  dolls,  or 
some  such  commodity,  you  are  absolutely  noth- 
ing, and  might  as  well  be  at  a  ball  with  a  cork 
leg,  or  go  deaf  to  the  opera. 

Now,  when  I've  told  this  much,  I  leave  you  to 
guess  what  impressions  our  triumphal  entry  into 


The  Adjutants  Courtship.  299 

the  city  produced.  Instead  of  the  admiring 
crowds  that  awaited  us  elsewhere,  as  we  marched 
gaily  into  quarters,  here  we  saw  nothing  but 
grave,  sober-looking,  and,  I  confess  it,  intelligent- 
looking  faces,  that  scrutinized  our  appearance 
closely  enough,  but  evidently  with  no  great  ap- 
proval and  less  enthusiasm.  The  men  passed 
on  hurriedly  to  their  counting-houses  and 
the  wharfs  ;  the  women,  with  almost  as  little 
interest,  peeped  at  us  from  the  windows,  and 
walked  away  again.  Oh  !  how  we  wished  for 
Galway,  glorious  Galway  !  That  Paradise  of  the 
infantry  that  lies  west  of  the  Shannon.  Little 
we  knew,  as  we  ordered  the  band,  in  lively  antici- 
pation of  the  gaieties  before  us,  to  strike  up 
"  Payne's  first  set,"  that  to  the  ears  of  the  fair 
listeners  in  Ship  Quay  Street  the  rumble  of  a 
sugar  hogshead,  or  the  crank,  crank  of  a  weigh- 
ing-crane, was  more  delightful  music. 

"  By  Jove,"  interrupted  Power,  ''you  are  quite 
right.  Women  are  strongly  imitative  in  their 
tastes.  The  lovely  Italian,  whose  very  costume 
is  a  natural  following  of  a  Raphael,  is  no  more 
like  the  pretty  Liverpool  damsel  than  Genoa  is 
to  Glassnevin  ;  and  yet  what  the  deuce  have 
they,  dear  souls,  with  their  feet  upon  the  soft  car- 
pet, and  their  eyes  upon  the  pages  of  Scott  or 
Byron,  to  do  with  all  the  cotton  or  dimity  that 
ever  was  printed?  But  let  us  not  repine;  that 
very  plastic  character  is  our  greatest  blessing." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  that  it  always  exists,"  said  the 


300  Half  Hours  with  Irish  AutJiors. 

doctor  dubiously,  as  though  his  own  experience 
pointed  otherwise. 

"  Well,  go  ahead,"  said  the  Skipper,  who  evi- 
dently disliked  the  digression  thus  interrupting 
the  adjutant's  story. 

Well,  we  marched  along,  looking  right  and  left 
at  the  pretty  faces — and  there  was  plenty  of  them, 
too — that  a  momentary  curiosity  drew  to  the  win- 
dows ;  but,  although  we  smiled,  and  ogled,  and 
leered  as  only  a  newly  arrived  regiment  can 
smile,  ogle,  or  leer,  by  all  that's  provoking,  we 
might  as  well  have  wasted  our  blandishments 
upon  the  Presbyterian  meeting-house  that 
frowned  upon  us  with  its. high  pitched  roof  and 
round  windows. 

"  Droll  people  these,"  said  one.  "  Raythur  rum 
ones,"  cried  another.  "  The  black  north,  by  Jove," 
said  a  third  ;  and  so  we  went  along  to  the  bar- 
racks, somewhat  displeased  to  think  that,  though 
the  1 8th  were  slow,  they  might  have  met  their 
match. 

Disappointed  as  we  undoubtedly  felt  at  the 
little  enthusiasm  that  marked  our  entree,  we  still 
resolved  to  persist  in  our  original  plan,  and,  ac- 
cordingly, early  the  following  morning  announced 
our  intention  of  giving  amateur  theatricals.  The 
mayor,  who  called  upon  our  colonel,  was  the  first 
to  learn  this,  and  received  the  information  with 
pretty  much  the  same  kind  of  look  as  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury  might  be  supposed  to  as- 
sume  if  requested    by  a   friend   to   ride  for  the 


The  Adjutant's  Courtship.  301 

Derby.  The  incredulous  expression  of  the  poor- 
man's  face,  as  he  turned  from  one  of  us  to  the 
other,  evidently  canvassing'  in  his  mind  whether 
we  might  not  by  some  special  dispensation  of 
Providence  be  all  insane,  I  shall  never  forget. 

His  visit  was  a  very  short  one ;  whether  con- 
cluding- that  we  were  not  quite  safe  corppany,  or 
whether  our  notification  was  too  much,  for  his 
nerves,  I  know  not. 

We  were  not  to  be  balked,  however ;  our  plans 
for  gaiety,  long  planned  and  conned  over,  were 
soon  announced  in  aliform  ;  and,  though  we  made 
efforts  almost  superhuman  in  the  cause,  our  plays 
were  performed  to  empty  benches,  our  balls  were 
unattended,  our  picnic  invitations  politely  de- 
clined, and,  in  a  word,  all  our  advances  treated 
with  a  cold  and  chilling  politeness  that  plainly 
said,  "  We'll  none  of  you." 

Each  day  brought  some  new  discomfiture,  and, 
as  we  met  at  mess,  instead  of  having,  as  hereto- 
fore, some  prospect  of  pleasure  and  amusement  to 
chat  over  it  was  only  to  talk  gloomily  over  our 
miserable  failures,  and  lament  the  dreary  quarters 
that  our  fates  had  doomed  us  to. 

Some  months  wore  on  in  this  fashion,  and  at 
length — what  will  not  time  do? — we  began  by  de- 
grees to  forget  our  woes.  Some  of  us  took  to 
late  hours  and  brandy  and  water ;  others  got  sen- 
timental, and  wrote  journals,  and  novels,  and 
poetry  ;  some  few  made  acquaintances  among  the 
towns-people,  and  cut  into  a  quiet  rubber  to  pass 


302  Half  Hoars  with  Irish  Authors. 

the  evening,  while  another  detachment,  among 
which  I  was,  got  up  a  little  love  affair  to  while 
away  the  tedious  hours,  and  cheat  the  lazy  sun. 

I  have  already  said  something  of  my  taste  in 
beauty.  Now.  Mrs.  Boggs  was  exactly  the  style 
of  woman  I  fancied.  She  was  a  widow,  she  had 
black  eyes — not  your  jet  black,  sparkling,  Dutch- 
doll  eyes  that  roll  about  and  tremble,  but  mean 
nothing — no  ;  hers  had  a  soft,  subdued,  downcast, 
pensive  look  about  them,  and  were  fully  as  melt- 
ing a  pair  of  orbs  as  any  blue  eyes  you  ever 
looked  at. 

Then  she  had  a  short  upper  lip,  and  sweet 
teeth  ;  by  Jove,  the}-  were  pearls  !  and  she  showed 
them,  too,  pretty  often.  Her  figure  was  well 
rounded,  plump,  and  what  the  French  call  nettc. 
To  complete  all,  her  instep  and  ankle  were  unex- 
ceptionable ;  and,  lastly,  her  jointure  was  seven 
hundred  pounds  per  annum,  with  a  trifle  of  eight 
thousand  more  that  the  late  lamented  Bos^s  be- 
queathed  when,  after  four  months  of  uninter- 
rupted bliss,  he  left  Derry  for  another  world. 

When  chance  first  threw  me  in  the  way  of  the 
fair  widow,  some  casual  coincidence  of  opinion 
happened  to  raise  me  in  her  estimation,  and  I 
soon  afterward  received  an  invitation  to  a  small 
evening  party  at  her  house,  to  which  I  alone  of 
the  regiment  was  asked. 

I  shall  not  weary  you  with  the  details  of  my 
intimacy  ;  it  is  enough  that  I  tell  you  I  fell  des- 
perately in  love.     I  began  by  visiting  twice   or 


The  Adjutant's  Courtship.  303 

thrice  a  week,  and  in  less  than  two  months  spent 
every  morning-  at  her  house,  and  rarely  left  it  till 
the  "  roast  beef"  announced  mess. 

I  soon  discovered  the  widow's  cue :  she  was 
serious.  Now,  I  had  conducted  all  manner  of 
flirtations  in  my  previous  life  ;  timid  young  ladies, 
manly  young  ladies,  musical,  artistical,  poetical, 
and  hysterical.  Bless  you,  I  knew  them  all  by 
heart;  but  never  before  had  I  to  deal  with  a 
serious  one,  and  a  widow  to  boot.  The  case  was 
a  trying  one.  For  some  weeks  it  was  all  very 
up-hill  work  ;  all  the  red  shot  of  warm  affection  I 
used  to  pour  in  on  other  occasions  was  of  no  use 
here.  The  language  of  love,  in  which  I  was  no 
mean  proficient,  availed  me  not.  Compliments 
and  flattery,  those  rare  skirmishers  before  the 
engagement,  were  denied  me ;  and  I  verily  think 
that  a  tender  squeeze  of  the  hand  would  have 
cost  me  my  dismissal. 

"How  very  slow  all  this,"  thought  I,  as,  at  the 
end  ot  two  months'  siege,  I  still  found  myself 
seated  in  the  trenches,  and  not  a  single  breach  in 
the  fortress.  "  But,  to  be  sure,  it's  the  way  they 
have  in  the  north,  and  one  must  be  patient." 

While  thus  I  was  in  no  very  sanguine  frame  of 
mind  as  to  my  prospects,  in  reality  my  progress 
was  very  considerable,  having  become  a  member 
of  Mr.  M'Phun's  congregation.  I  was  gradually 
rising  in  the  estimation  of  the  widow  and  her 
friends,  whom  my  constant  attendance  at  meeting, 
and   my  very  serious  demeanor,  had  so  far  im- 


304  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

pressed  that  very  grave  deliberation  was  held 
whether  I  should  not  be  made  an  elder  at  the 
next  brevet. 

If  the  Widow  Boggs  had  not  been  a  very  love- 
ly and  wealthy  widow,  had  she  not  possessed  the 
eyes,  lips,  hips,  ankles,  and  jointure  aforesaid, 
I  honestly  avow  that  not  the  charms  of  that 
sweet  man,  Mr.  M'Phun's  eloquence,  nor  even 
the  flattering  distinction  in  store  for  me,  would 
have  induced  me  to  prolong  my  suit.  However, 
I  was  not  going  to  despair  when  in  sight  of  land. 
The  widow  was  evidently  softened  ;  a  little  time 
longer,  and  the  most  scrupulous  moralist,  the 
most  rigid  advocate  for  employing  time  wisely, 
could  not  have  objected  to  my  daily  system  of 
courtship.  It  was  none  of  your  sighing,  dying, 
ogling,  hand-squeezing,  waist-pressing,  oath- 
swearing,  everlasting-adoring  affairs,  with  an  in- 
terchange of  rings  and  lockets;  not  a  bit  of  it. 
It  was  confoundedly  like  a  controversial  meeting 
at  the  Rotunda,  and  I  myself  had  a  far  greater 
resemblance  to  Father  Tom  Maguire  than  a  gay 
Lothario. 

After  all,  when  mess-time  came,  when  the  roast 
beef  played,  and  we  assembled  at  dinner,  and  the 
soup  and  fish  had  gone  round,  with  the  glasses  of 
sherry  in,  my  spirits  rallied,  and  a  very*  jolly 
evening  consoled  me  for  all  my  fatigues  and  exer- 
tions, and  supplied  me  with  energy  for  the  mor- 
row ;  for  let  me  observe  here  that  I  only  made 
love  before  dinner.     The  evenings  I  reserved  foi 


The  Adjutant's  Courtship.  305 

myself,  assuring  Mrs.  Boggs  that  my  regimental 
duties  required  all  my  time  after  mess-hour,  in 
which  I  was  perfectly  correct ;  for  at  six  we 
dined,  at  seven  I  opened  the  claret  No.  1,  at 
eight  I  had  uncorked  my  second  bottle,  by  half- 
past  eight  I  was  returning  to  the  sherry,  and  at 
nine,  punctual  to  the  moment,  I  was  returning  to 
my  quarters  on  the  back  of  my  servant,  Tim 
Daly,  who  had  carried  me  safely  for  eight  years 
without  a  single  mistake,  as  the  fox  hunters  say. 
This  was  a  way  we  had  in  the  — th  ;  every  man  was 
carried  away  from  mess,  some  sooner,  some  later  ; 
I  was  always  an  early  riser,  and  went  betimes. 

Now,  although  I  had  very  abundant  proof, 
from  circumstantial  evidence,  that  I  was  nightly 
removed  from  the  mess-room  to  my  bed  in  the 
mode  I  mention,  it  would  have  puzzled  me  sorely 
to  prove  the  fact  in  any  direct  way  ;  inasmuch  as, 
by  half-past  nine,  as  the  clock  chimed,  Tim  en- 
tered to  take  me.  I  was  very  innocent  of  all  that 
was  going  on,  and,  except  a  certain  vague  sense 
of  regret  at  leaving  the  decanter,  felt  nothing 
whatever. 

It  so  chanced — what  mere  trifles  are  we  ruled 
by  in  our  destinies ! — that,  just  as  my  suit  with  the 
widow  had  assumed  its  most  favorable  footing, 
old  General  Hinks,  that  commanded  the  district, 
announced  his  coming  over  to  inspect  our  regi- 
ment. Over  he  came  accordingly,  and,  to  be 
sure,  we  had  a  day  of  it.  We  were  paraded  for 
six  mortal  hours  ;  then  we  were  marching  and 


306  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

counter-marching- ;  moving  into  line,  back  again 
into  column,  now  forming  open  column,  then  into 
square;  till  at  last  we  began  to  think  that  the 
old  general  was  like  the  Flying  Dutchman,  and 
was  probably  condemned  to  keep  on  drilling  us 
to  the  day  of  judgment.  To  be  sure,  he  enlivened 
the  proceeding  to  me,  by  pronouncing  the  regi- 
ment the  worst  drilled  and  appointed  corps  in  the 
service,  and  the  adjutant  (me!)  the  stupidest  dun- 
derhead— these  were  his  words — he  had  ever  met 
with. 

"  Never  mind,"  thought  I,  "  a  few  days  more, 
and  it's  little  I'll  care  for.  the  eighteen  manoeu- 
vres. It's  small  trouble  your  eyes  right  or  your 
left  shoulders  forward  will  give  me.  I'll  sell  out, 
and  with  the  Widow  Boggs  and  seven  hundred  a 
year — but  no  matter." 

This  confounded  inspection  lasted  till  half-past 
five  in  the  afternoon,  so  that  our  mess  was  delayed 
a  full  hour  in  consequence,  and  it  was  past  seven 
as  we  sat  down  to  dinner.  Our  faces  were  grim 
enough  as.  we  met  together  at  first ;  but  what  will 
not  a  good  dinner  and  good  wine  do  for  the  sur- 
liest party  ?  By  eight  o'clock  we  began  to  feel 
somewhat  more  convivially  disposed  ;  and,  before 
nine,  the  decanters  were  performing  a  quick-step 
round  the  table,  in  a  fashion  very  exhilarating 
and  very  jovial  to  look  at. 

"  No  flinching  to-night,"  said  the  senior  major  ; 
"  we've  had  a  severe  day,  let  us  also  have  a  merry 
evening." 


The  Adjutant's  Courtship.  307 

"  By  Jove,  Ormond,"  cried  another,  "we  must 
not  leave  this  to-night.  Confound  the  old  hum- 
bugs and  their  misty  whist  party,  throw  them 
over!" 

"  I  say,  Adjutant,"  said  Forbes,  addressing  me, 
"you've  nothing  particular  to  say  to  the  fair 
widow  this  evening;  you'll  not  bolt,  I  hope." 

"  That  he  sha'n't,"  said  one  near  me ;  "  he  must 
make  up  for  his  absence  to-morrow,  for  to-night 
we  all  stand  fast." 

"  Besides,"  said  another,  "  she's  at  meeting  by 
this.  Old  what-d'ye-call-him  is  at  fourteenthly 
before  now." 

"  A  note  for  you,  sir,"  said  the  mess  waiter, 
presenting  me  with  a  rose-colored  three-cornered 
billet.  It  was  from  la  chere  Boggs  herself,  and 
ran  thus : 

"  Dear  Sir — Mr.  M'Phun  and  a  few  friends  are 
coming  to  tea  at  my   house  after  meeting;  per- 
haps you  will  also  favor  us  with  your  com  pan)-. 
"  Yours  truly,  Eliza  Boggs.' 

What  was  to  be  done?  Quit  the  mess,  leave  a 
jolly  party  just  at  the  jolliest  moment,  exchange 
Lafitte  and  red  hermitage  for  a  soiree  of  elders 
presided  over  by  that  sweet  man  Mr.  M'Phun? 
It  was  too  bad  ;  but  then,  how  much  was  in  the 
scale  ?  What  would  the  widow  say  if  I  declined  ? 
What  would  she  think  ?  I  well  knew  that  the  in- 
vitation meant  nothing  less  than  a  full-dress  pa- 


30S  Half  Hours  with  Irish  AutJtors. 

rade  of  me  before  her  friends,  and  that  to  decline 
was  perhaps  to  forfeit  all  my  hopes  in  that  quarter 
for  ever. 

"  Any  answer,  sir  ?"  said  the  waiter. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  in  a  half  whisper,  "  I'll  go ;  tell 
the  servant  I'll  go." 

At  this  moment,  my  tender  epistle  was  ab- 
stracted from  before  me  and,  ere  I  turned  round, 
had  made  the  tour  of  half  the  table.  I  never  per- 
ceived the  circumstance,  however,  and,  filling  my 
glass,  professed  my  resolve  to  sit  to  the  last,  with 
a  mental  reserve  to  take  my  departure  at  the  very 
first  opportunity.  Ormond  and  the  paymaster 
quitted  the  room  for  a  moment,  as  if  to  give  or- 
ders for  a  broil  at  twelve,  and  now  all  seemed  to 
promise  a  very  convivial  and  well-sustained  party 
for  the  night. 

"  Is  that  all  arranged?  "  inquired  the  major,  as 
Ormond  entered. 

"All  right,"  said  he;  "and  now  let  us  have  a 
bumper  and  a  song.  Adjutant,  old  boy,  give  us  a 
chant." 

"  What  shall  it  be,  then  ?  "  inquired  I,  anxious 
to  cover  my  intended  retreat  by  an  appearance  of 
joviality. 

"  Give  us — 

'  When  I  was  in  the  Fusileers, 
Some  fourteen  years  ago.'  " 

"No,  no,  confound  it !  I've  heard  nothing  else, 
since  I  joined  the  regiment.  Let  us  have  the 
Paymaster's  Daughter."     •     . 


The  Adjutant" s  Courtship.  309 

"  Ah !  that's  pathetic ;  I  like  that,"  lisped  a 
young  ensign. 

"  If  I'm  to  have  a  vote,"  grunted  out  the  senior 
major,  "  I  "pronounce  for  West  India  Quarters." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  half  a  dozen  voices  together, 
"  let's  have  West  India  Quarters.  Come,  give 
him  a  glass  of  sherry,  and  let  him  begin." 

I  had  scarcely  finished  off  my  glass,  and  cleared 
my  throat  for  my  song,  when  the  clock  on  the 
chimney-piece  chimed  half-past  nine,  and  the 
same  instant  I  felt  a  heavy  hand  fall  upon  my 
shoulder ;  I  turned  and  beheld  my  servant  Tim. 
This,  as  I  have  already  mentioned,  was  the  hour 
at  which  Tim  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  me  home 
to  my  quarters,  and,  though  we  had  dined  an 
hour  later,  he  took  no  notice  of  the  circumstance, 
but,  true  to  his  custom,  he  was  behind  my  chair. 
A  very  cursory  glance  at  my  "  familiar "  was 
quite  sufficient  to  show  me  that  we  had  somehow 
changed  sides,  for  Tim,  who  was  habitually  the 
most  sober  of  mankind,  was,  on  the  present  occa- 
sion, exceedingly  drunk,  while  I,  a  full  hour  be- 
fore that  consummation,  was  perfectly  sober. 

"  What  d'ye  want,  sir?  "  inquired  I,  with  some- 
thing of  severity  in  my  manner. 

"Come  home,"  said  Tim,  with  a  hiccup  that 
set  the  whole  table  in  a  roar. 

"Leave  the  room  this  instant,"  said  I,  feeling 
wrathy  at  being  thus  made  a  butt  of  for  his  of- 
fences— "  leave  the  room,  or  I'll  kick  you  out  of 
it."     Now  this,  let  me  add  in  a  parenthesis,   was 


310  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

somewhat  of  a  boast,  for  Tim  was  six  feet  three, 
and  strong  in  proportion,  and,  when  in  liquor, 
fearless  as  a  tiger. 

"  You'll  kick  me  out  of  the  room,  eh  !  will  you  ? 
Try,  only  try  it;  that's  all."  Here  a  new  roar  of 
laughter  burst  forth,  while  Tim,  again  placing  an 
enormous  paw  upon  my  shoulder,  continued : 
"  Don't  be  sitting  there,  making  a  baste  of  your- 
self, when  you've  got  enough.  Don't  you  see 
you're  drunk?  " 

I  sprang  to  my  legs  on  this,  and  made  a  rush 
to  the  fireplace  to  secure  the  poker ;  but  Tim  was 
beforehand  with  me,  and,. seizing  me  by  the  waist 
with  both  hands,  flung  me  across  his  shoulders, 
as  though  I  were  a  baby,  saying,  at  the  same 
time,  "  I'll  take  you  away  at  half-past  eight  to- 
morrow, av  you're  as  rampageous  again."  I 
kicked,  I  plunged,  I  swore,  I  threatened,  I  even 
begged  and  implored  to  be  set  down  ;  but,  wheth- 
er my  voice  was  lost  in  the  uproar  around  me,  or 
that  Tim  only  regarded  my  denunciations  in  the 
light  of  cursing,  I  know  not ;  but  he  carried  me 
bodily  down  the  stairs,  steadying  himself  by  one 
hand  on  the  bannisters,  while  with  the  other  he 
held  me  as  in  a  vise.  1  had  but  one  consolation 
all  this  while  :  it  was  this,  that,  as  my  quarters 
lay  immediately  behind  the  mess-room,  Tim's 
excursion  would  soon  come  to  an  end,  and  I 
should  be  free  once  more;  but  guess  my  terror 
to  find  that  the  drunken  scoundrel,  instead  of 
going,  as  usual,  to   the  left,  turned  short  to  the 


The  Adjutants  Court  sliip.  311 

right  hand,  and  marched  boldly  into  Ship  Quay 
Street.  Every  window  in  the  mess-room  was 
filled  with  our  fellows,  absolutely  shouting  with 
laughter.  "  Go  it,  Tim — that's  the  fellow — hold 
him  tight — never  let  go,"  cried  a  dozen  voices, 
while  the  wretch,  with  the  tenacity  of  drunken- 
ness, gripped  me  still  harder,  and  took  his  way 
down  the  middle  of  the  street. 

It  was  a  beautiful  evening  in  July,  a  soft  sum- 
mer night,  as  I  made  this  pleasing  excursion  down 
the  most  frequented  thoroughfare  in  the  maiden 
city,  my  struggles  ever}7  moment  exciting  roars 
of  laughter  from  an  increasing  crowd  of  specta- 
tors, who  seemed  scarcely  less  amused  than  puz- 
zled at  the  exhibition.  In  the  midst  of  a  torrent 
of  imprecations  against  my  torturer,  a  loud  noise 
attracted  me.  I  turned  my  head,  and  saw — hor- 
ror of  horrors  ! — the  door  of  the  meeting-house 
just  flung  open,  and  the  congregation  issuing 
forth  en  masse.  Is  it  any  wonder  if  I  remember 
no  more  ?  There  I  was,  the  chosen  one  of  the 
Widow  Boggs — the  elder  elect — the  favored 
friend  and  admired  associate  of  Mr.  M'Phun, 
taking  an  airing  on  a  summer's  evening  on  the 
back  of  a  drunken  Irishman !  Oh  !  the  thought 
was  horrible  ;  and,  certainly,  the  short  and  pithy 
epithets  by  which  I  was  characterized  in  the 
crowd  neither  improved  my  temper  nor  assuaged 
my  wrath  ;  and  I  feel  bound  to  confess  that  \\\y 
own  language  was  neither  serious  nor  becoming. 
Tim,  however,  cared  little  for  all  this,  and  pur- 


312  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

sued  the  even  tenor  of  his  way  through  the  whole 
crowd,  nor  stopped  till,  having  made  half  the 
circuit  of  the  wall,  he  deposited  me  safe  at  my 
own  door,  adding,  as  he  set  me  down,  "  Oh  !  av 
you're  as  throublesome  every  evening,  it's  a 
wheelbarrow  I'll  be  obleeged  to  bring  for  you." 

The  next  day  I  obtained  a  short  leave  of  ab- 
sence, and,  ere  a  fortnight  expired,  exchanged 
into  the  — th,  preferring  Halifax  itself  to  the  ridi- 
cule that  awaited  me  in  Londonderry. 


THE  GHOST. 

AS   RELATED   BY   MICKEY   FREE. 


ELL,  I  believe  your  honor  heard  me  tell  long 
ago  how  my  father  left  the  army,  and  the 
way  that  he  took  to  another  line  of  life  that  was 
more  to  his  liking.  And  so  it  was  ;  he  was  happy  as 
the  day  was  long  ;  he  drove  a  hearse  for  Mr.  Callag- 
han,  of  Cork,  for  many  years,  and  a  pleasant  place  it 
was  ;  for  ye  see,  my  father  was  a  cute  man,  and  knew 
something  of  the  world  ;  and,  though  he  was  a 
droll  devil,  and,  could  sing  a  funny  song  when 
he  was  among  the  boys,  no  sooner  had  he  the  big 
black  cloak  on  him,  and  the  weepers,  and  he 
seated  on  the  high  box  with  the  six  long-tailed 
blacks  before  him,  you'd  really  think  \£  was  his 
own  mother  was  inside,  he  looked  so  melancholy 
and  miserable.  The  sexton  and  grave-digger  was 
nothing  to  my  father ;  and  he  had  a  look  about 
his  eye — to  be  sure  there  was  a  reason  for  it — that 
you'd  think  he  was  up  all  night  crying  ;  though 
it's  little  indulgence  he  took  that  way. 

"  Well,  of  all  Mr.  Callaghan's  men,  there  was 
none  so  great  a  favorite  as  my  father ;  the  neigh- 
bors were  all  fond  of  him. 


314  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

" '  A  kind  crayture  every  inch  of  him,'  the 
women  would  say.  '  Did  ye  see  his  face  at  Mrs. 
Delany's  funeral?' 

"  '  True  for  you,'  another  would  remark  ;  '  he 
mistook  the  road  with  grief,  and  stopped  at  a 
shebeenhouse  instead  of  Kilmurry  Church.' 

"  I  need  say  no  more,  only  one  thing,  that  it 
was  principally  among,  the  farmers  and  the 
country  people  my  father  was  liked  so  much. 
The  great  people  and  the  quality — I  ax  your 
pardon — but  sure  isn't  it  true,  Mister  Charles, 
they  don't  fret  so  much  after  their  fathers  and 
brothers,  and  they  care  little  who's  driving  them, 
whether  it  was  a  decent,  respectable  man  like  my 
father,  or  a  chap  with  a  grin  on  him  like  a  rat- 
trap  ?  And  so  it  happened  that  my  father  used  to 
travel  half  the  country ;  going  here  and  there 
wherever  there  was  trade  stirring;  and,  faix,  a 
man  didn't  think  himself  rightly  buried  if  my 
father  wasn't  there ;  for,  ye  see,  he  knew  all  about 
it;  he  could  tell  to  a  quart  of  sperits  what  would 
be  wanting  for  a  wake;  he  knew  all  the  good 
cryers  for  miles  round;  and  I've  heard  it  was  a 
beautiful  sight  to  see  him  standing  on  a  hill, 
arranging  the  procession,  as  they  walked  into  the 
churchyard,  and  giving  the  word  like  a  captain. 

"  '  Come  on,  the  stiff — now  the  friends  of  the 
stiff- — now  de  pop'lace.' 

"That's  what  he  used  to  say;  and,  troth,  he 
was  always  repeating  it  when  he  was  a  little 
gone  in    drink  —  for  that's   the   time   his   spirits 


The  Ghost.  315 

would  rise — and  he'd  think  he  was  burying  half 
Minister. 

"  And  sure  it  was  a  real  pleasure  and  a  pride  to 
be  buried  in  them  times  ;  for,  av  it  was  only  a 
small  farmer  with  a  potato  garden,  my  father 
would  come  down  with  the  black  cloak  on  him, 
and  three  yards  of  crape  behind  his  hat,  and  set 
all  the  children  crying  and  yelling  for  half  a  mile 
round ;  and  then  the  way  he'd  walk  before  them 
with  a  spade  on  his  shoulder,  and,  sticking  it  down 
in  the  ground,  clap  his  hat  on  the  top  of  it,  to 
make  it  look  like  a  chief  mourner.  It  wras  a 
beautiful  sight !" 

"  But,  Mike,  if  you  indulge  much  longer  in  this 
flattering  recollection  of  your  father,  I'm  afraid 
we  shall  lose  sight  of  the  ghost  entirely." 

"No  fear  in  life,  your  honor,  I'm  coming  to  him 
now.  Well,  it  was  this  way  it  happened :  In  the 
winter  of  the  great  frost,  about  forty-two  or  forty- 
three  years  ago,  the  ould  priest  of  Tullough- 
muray  took  ill  and  died  ;  he  was  sixty  years 
priest  of  the  parish,  and  mightily  beloved  by  all 
the  people,  and  good  reason  for  it ;  a  pleasanter 
man  and  a  more  social  crayture  never  lived  : 
'twas  himself  was  the  life  of  the  whole  country- 
side. A  wedding  nor  a  christening  wasn't  lucky 
av  he  wasn't  there,  sitting  at  the  top  of  the  table, 
with  as  much  kindness  in  his  eye  as  would 
make  the  fortunes  of  twenty  hypocrites,  if  they 
had  it  among  them.  And  then  he  was  so  good  to 
.the  poor ;  the  Priory  was  always  full  of  ould  men 


3 16  Half  Hours  with  Irish  AutJwrs. 

and  ould  women,  sitting  around  the  big  lire  in  the 
kitchen,  so  that  the  cook  could  hardly  get  near  it. 
There  they  were  eating  their  meals,  and  burning 
their  shins,  till  they  were  speckled  like  a  trout's 
back,  and  grumbling  all  the  time ;  but  Father 
Dwyer  liked  them,  and  he  would  have  them. 

"'Where  have  they  to  go,'  he'd  say,  'av  it 
wasn't  to  me  ?  Give  Molly  Kinshela  a  lock  of  that 
bacon,  Tim,  it's  a  cowld  morning ;  will  ye  have  a 
taste  of  the  "dew"  ?' 

"  Ah  !  that's  the  way  he'd  spake  to  them  ;  but 
sure  goodness  is  no  warrant  for  living  any  more 
than  devilment ;  and  so  he  got  cowld  in  his  feet  at 
a  station,  and  he  rode  home  in  the  heavy  snow 
without  his  big  coat — for  he  gave  it  away  to  a 
blind  man  on  the  road — and  in  three  days  he  was 
dead. 

"  I  see  you're  getting  impatient ;  so  I'll  not 
stop  to  say  what  grief  was  in  the  parish  when  it 
was  known  ;  but  troth  there  never  was  seen  the 
like  before  ;  not  a  crayture  would  lift  a  spade  for 
two  days,  and  there  was  more  whiskey  sold  in  that 
time  than  at  the  whole  spring  fair.  Well,  on  the 
third  day,  the  funeral  set  out,  and  never  was  the 
equal  of  it  in  them  parts :  first,  there  was  my 
father;  he  came  special  from  Cork  with  the  six 
horses  all  in  new  black  and  plumes  like  little 
poplar  trees;  then  came  Father  Dwyer,  followed 
by  the  two  coadjutors  in  beautiful  surplices, 
walking  bare-headed,  with  the  little  boys  of  the 
Priory  school,  two  and  two." 


The  Ghost.  317 

"  Well,  Mike,  I'm  sure  it  was  very  fine;  but  for 
heaven's  sake  spare  me  all  these  descriptions,  and 
get  on  to  the  ghost !" 

"  Faith,  your  honor's  in  a  great  hurry  for  the 
ghost ;  mav  be  you  won't  like  him  when  ye  have 
him,  but  I'll  go  faster  if  you  please.  Well,  Father 
Dwyer,  ye  see,  was  born  at  Aghan-lish,  of  an  ould 
family,  and  he  left  it  in  his  will  that  he  was  to  be 
buried  in  the  family  vault ;  and,  as  Aghan-lish 
was  eighteen  miles  up  the  mountains,  it  was 
getting  late  when  they  drew  near.  By  that  time, 
the  great  procession  was  all  broke  up  and  gone 
home.  The  coadjutors  stopped  to  dine  at  the 
'  Blue  Bellows'  at  the  crossroads;  the  little  boys 
took  to  pelting  snow-balls ;  there  was  a  fight  or 
two  on  the  way  besides  ;  and,  in  fact,  except  an  ould 
deaf  fellow  that  my  father  took  to  mind  the 
horses,  he  was  quite  alone.  Not  that  he  minded 
that  same;  tor,  when  the  crowd  was  gone,  my 
father  began  to  song,  and  tould  the  deaf  chap  that 
it  was  a  lamentation.  At  last  they  came  in  sight 
of  Aghan-lish.  It  was  a  lonesome,  melancholy- 
looking  place,  with  nothing  near  it  except  two  or 
three  ould  fir-trees,  and  a  small  slated  house  with 
one  window,  where  the  sexton  lived,  and  even 
that  same  was  shut  up,  and  a  padlock  on  the  door. 
Well,  my  father  was  not  over  much  pleased  at 
the  look  of  matters ;  but,  as  he  was  never  hard 
pu*t  to  what  to  do,  he  managed  to  get  the  coffin 
into  the  vestry  ;  and  then,  when  he  unharnessed 
the  horses,  he   sent   the  deaf  fellow  with  them 


318  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

down  to  the  village  to  tell  the  priest  that  the 
corpse  was  there,  and  to  come  up  early  in  the 
morning  and  perform  Mass.  The  next  thing  to 
do  was  to  make  himself  comfortable  for  the  night ; 
and  then  he  made  a  roaring  fire  on  the  old  hearth 
— for  there  was  plenty  of  bog-fir  there — closed  the 
windows  with  the  black  cloaks,  and,  wrapping 
two  round  himself,  he  sat  down  to  cook  a  little 
supper  he  brought  with  him  in  case  of  need. 

"  Well,  you  may  think  it  was  melancholy 
enough  to  pass  the  night  up  there  alone,  with  a 
corpse  in  an  old  ruined  church  in  the  middle  of 
the  mountains,  the  wind  howling  about  on  every 
side,  and  the  snowdrift  beating  against  the  walls  ; 
but,  as  the  fire  burned  brightly,  and  the  little 
plate  of  rashers  and  eggs  smoked  temptingly  be- 
fore him,  my  father  mixed  a  jug  of  the  strongest 
punch,  and  sat  down  as  happy  as  a  king-.  As  long 
as  he  was  eating  away  he  had  no  time  to  be 
thinking  of  anything  else  ;  but,  when  all  was  done, 
and  he  looked  about  him,  he  began  to  feel  very 
low  and  melancholy  in  his  heart.  There  was  the 
great  black  coffin  on  three  chairs  in  one  corner; 
and  then  the  mourning-cloaks  that  he  had  stuck 
up  against  the  windows  moved  backward  and  for- 
ward like  living  things ;  and  outside  the  wild 
cry  of  the  plover  as  he  flew  past,  and  the  night- 
owl  sitting  in  a  nook  of  the  old  church.  '  I  wish 
it  was  morning,  anyhow,'  said  my  father;  'for 
this  is  a  lonesome  place  to  be  in ;  and,  faix,  he'll 
be  a  cunning  fellow  that  catches  me  passing  the 


The  Ghost.  319 

night  this  way  again.'  Now,  there  was  one  thing 
distressed  him  most  of  all :  my  father  used  always 
to  make  fun  of  the  ghosts  and  sperits  the  neigh- 
bors would  tell  of,  pretending  there  was  no  such 
thing;  and  now  the  thought  came  to  him,  'May 
be  they'll  revenge  themselves  on  me  to-night, 
when  they  have  me  up  here  alone.'  And  with  that 
he  made  another  jug  stronger  than  the  first,  and 
tried  to  remember  a  few  prayers  in  case  of  need ;  but 
somehow  his  mind  was  not  too  clear,  and  he  said 
afterwards  he  was  always  mixing  up  ould  songs 
and  toasts  with  the  prayers,  and,  when  he  thought 
he  had  just  got  hold  of  a  beautiful  psalm,  it  would 
turn  out  to  be  '  Tatter  Jack  Walsh,'  or  '  Limping' 
James,'  or  something  like  that.  The  storm,  mean- 
while, was  rising  every  moment,  and  parts  of  the 
old  abbey  were  falling,  as  the  wind  shook  the  ruin  ; 
and  my  father's  sperits,  notwithstanding  the 
punch,  were  lower  than  ever. 

" '  I  made  it  too  weak,'  said  he,  as  he  set  to  work 
on  a  new  jorum  ;  and  troth  this  time  that  was  not 
the  fault  of  it,  for  the  first  sup  nearly  choked  him. 

"  '  Ah  ! '  said  he  now,  '  I  knew  what  it  was  ;  this 
is  like  the  thing;  and,  Mr.  Free,  you  are  begin- 
ning to  feel  easy  and  comfortable  ;  pass  the  jug  ; 
your  very  good  health  and  song.  I'm  a  little 
hoarse,  it's  true,  but  if  the  company  will  ex- 
cuse— ' 

"  And  then  he  beg'an  knocking  on  the  table 
with  his  knuckles,  as  if  there  was  a  room  full  of 
people  asking  him  to  sing.     In  short,  my  father 


320  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

was  drunk  as  a  fiddler ;  the  last  brew  finished 
him ;  and  he  began  roaring  away  all  kinds  of 
droll  songs,  and  telling  all  manner  of  stories,  as  if 
he  was  at  a  great  party. 

"  While  he  was  capering  this  way  about  the 
room,  he  knocked  down  his  hat,  and  with  it  a  pack 
of  cards  he  put  into  it  before  leaving  home,  for  he 
was  mighty  fond  of  a  game. 

" '  Will  ye  take  a  hand,  Mr.  Free?'  said  he,  as  he 
gathered  them  up  and  sat  down  beside  the  fire. 

" '  I'm  convanient,'  said  he,  and  began  dealing 
out  as  if  there  was  a  partner  fornenst  him. 

"When  my  father  used  to  get  this  far  in  the 
story,  he  became  very  confused.  He  says  that  once 
or  twice  he  mistook  the  liquor,  and  took  a  pull  at 
the  bottle  of  potteen  instead  of  the  punch  ;  and 
the  last  thing  he  remembers  was  asking  poor 
Father  Dwyer  if  he  would  draw  near  to  the  fire, 
and  not  be  lying  there  near  the  door. 

"With  that  he  slipped  down  on  the  ground, 
and  fell  fast  asleep.  How  long  he  lay  that  way 
he  could  never  tell.  When  he  awoke  and  looked 
up,  his  hair  nearly  stood  on  end  with  fright. 
What  do  you  think  he  seen  fornenst  him,  sitting 
at  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  but  Father  Dwyer 
himself;  there  he  was,  divil  a  lie  in  it,  wrapped 
up  in  one  of  the  mourning-cloaks,  trying  to  warm 
his  hands  at  the  fire. 

"  '  Salve  hoc  nomine patri  /'  said  my  father,  cross- 
ing himself.  '  Av  it's  your  ghost,  God  presarve 
me !' 


The  Ghost.  321 

"  '  Good-evening t'ye,  Mr.  Free,'  said  the  ghost; 
'and,  av  I  might  be  bould,  what's  in  the  jug?' 
For,  ye  see,  my  father  had  it  under  his  arm  fast, 
and  never  let  it  go  when  he  was  asleep. 

"  '  Pater  noster  qui  es  in — potteen,  sir,'  said  my 
father,  for  the  ghost  didn't  look  pleased  at  his 
talking  Latin. 

"  '  Ye  might  have  the  politeness  to  ax  if  one  had 
a  mouth  on  him,'  then  says  the  ghost 

'  "  Sure  I  didn't  think  the  like  of  you  would 
taste  sperits.' 

"  '  Try  me,'  said  the  ghost ;  and  with  that  he 
filled  out  a  glass,  and  tossed  it  off  like  a  Chris- 
tian. 

"  '  Beamish  !'  says  the  ghost,  smacking  his  lips. 

"  '  The  same,'  says  my  father  ;  '  and  sure  what's 
happened  you  has  not  spoilt  your  taste  ?' 

"  '  If  you'd  mix  a  little  hot,'  says  the  ghost,  '  I'm 
thinking  it  would  be  better ;  the  night  is  mighty 
sevare.' 

"  '•Anything  that  your  reverence  pleases,'  says 
my  father,  as  he  began  to  blow  up  a  good  fire  to 
boil  the  water. 

"  '  And  what  news  is  stirring?' -says  the  ghost. 

"  '  Devil  a  word,  your  reverence ;  your  own 
funeral  was  the  only  thing  doing  last  week.  Times 
is  bad  ;  except  the  measles,  there's  nothing  in  our 
parts.' 

"  '  And  we're  quite  dead  hereabouts  too,'  says 
the  ghost. 

"  '  There's   some   of  us  so,   anyhow,'  says  my 


322  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

father,  with  a  sly  look.  '  Taste  that,  your  reve- 
rence.' 

'"  Pleasant  and  refreshing-,'  says  the  ghost. 
'And  now,  Mr.  Free,  what  do  you  say  to  a  little 
spoil  five,  or  beggar  my  neighbor?' 

"'What  will  we  play  for ?' says  my  father ;  for 
a  thought  just  struck  him  — '  May  be  it's  some 
trick  of  the  devil  to  catch  my  soul.' 

"  '  A  pint  of  Beamish,'  says  the  ghost. 

"  '  Done,'  says  my  father  ;  '  cut  for  deal — the 
ace  of  clubs — you  have  it.' 

"  Now,  the  whole  time  the  ghost  was  dealing 
the  cards  my  father  never  took  his  eyes  off  of 
him,  for  he  wasn't  quite  asy  in  his  mind  at  all; 
but  when  he  saw  him  turn  up  the  trump,  and  tak« 
a  strong  drink  afterwards,  he  got  more  at  ease, 
and  began  the  game. 

"  How  long  they  played  it  was  never  rightly 
known;  but  one  thing  is  sure,  they  drank  a  cruel 
deal  of  spirits ;  three  quart  bottles  my  father 
brought  with  him  were  all  finished,  and  by  Mthat 
time  his  brain  was  so  confused  with  the  liquor 
and  all  he  lost — for  somehow  he  never  won  a 
game — that  he  was  getting  very  quarrelsome. 

"  '  You  have  your  own  luck  of  it,'  says  he  at 
last. 

"  '  True  for  you  ;  and,  besides,  we  play  a  great 
deal  where  I  come  from.' 

"'I've  heard  so,' says  my  father.  'I  lead  the 
knave,  sir,  spades ;  bad  cess  to  it,  lost  again  !' 

"  Now,  it  was  really  very  distressing ;   for,  by 


The  Ghost.  323 

this  time,  though  they  only  began  for  a  pint  of 
Beamish,  my  father  went  on  betting-  till  lie  lost 
the  hearse  and  all  the  six  horses,  mourning-cloaks, 
plumes,  and  everything. 

"  '  Are  you  tired,  Mr.  Free?  May  be  you'd  like 
to  stop  ?' 

"  '  Stop  !  faith  it's  a  nice  time  to  stop  ;  of  course 
not.' 

"  '  Well,  what  will  ye  play  for  now  ?' 

"  The  way  he  said  these  words  brought  a  trem- 
bling all  over  my  father,  and  his  blood  curdled  in 
his  heart.  '  O  murther !'  says  he  to  himself.  '  It's 
my  sowl  he  is  wanting  all  the  time.' 

"  '  I've  mighty  little  left,'  says  my  father,  look- 
ing at  him  keenly,  while  he  kept  shuffling  the 
cards  quick  as  lightning. 

"  '  Mighty  little  ;  no  matter,  we'll  give  you 
plenty  of  time  to  pay,  and,  if  you  can't  do  it,  it 
shall  never  trouble  you  as  long  as  you  live.' 

"'O  3*011  murthering  devil!'  says  my  father, 
flying  at  him  with  a  spade  that  he  had  behind  his 
chair.  '  I've  found  you  out.' 

"With  one  blow  he  knocked  him  down;  and 
now  a  terrible  fight  began,  for  the  ghost  was  very 
strong  too ;  but  my  father's  blood  was  up,  and 
he'd  have  faced  the  devil  himself  then.  They 
rolled  over  each  other  several  times,  the  broken 
bottles  cutting  them  to  pieces,  and  the  chairs  and 
tables  crashing  under  them.  At  last  the  ghost 
took  the  bottle  that  lay  on  the  hearth,  and  level- 
led my  father  to  the  ground  with  one  blow  ;  down 


324  Half  Hoars  ivitJi  Irish  Authors. 

he  fell,  and  the  bottle  and  the  whiskey  were  both 
dashed  into  the  fire  ;  that  was  the  end  of  it,  for 
the  ghost  disappeared  that  moment  in  a  blue 
flame  that  nearly  set  fire  to  my  father  as  he  lay  on 
the  floor. 

"  Och  !  it  was  a  cruel  sight  to  see  him  next 
morning,  with  his  cheek  cut  open,  and  his  hands 
all  bloody,  lying  there  by  himself;  all  the  broken 
glass  and  the  cards  all  round  him  ;  the  coffin,  too, 
was  knocked  down  oif  the  chair  ;  may  be  the  ghost 
had  trouble  getting  into  it.  However  that  was, 
the  funeral  was  put  off  for  a  day,  for  my  father 
couldn't  speak ;  and  as  for  the  sexton,  it  was  a 
queer  thing,  but  when  they  came  to  call  him  in 
the  morning  he  had  two  black  eyes,  and  a  gash 
over  his  ear,  and  he  never  knew  how  he  got 
them.  It  was  easy  enough  to  know  the  ghost 
did  it ;  but  my  father  kept  the  secret,  and  never 
told  it  to  any  man,  woman,  or  child  in  them  parts." 


SERVING   A   WRIT. 


THE  way  of  it  was  this,  said  Major  O'Shaugh- 
nessy  :  my  father,  who,  for  reasons  registered 
in  the  King's  Bench,  spent  a  great  many  years  of 
his  life  in  that  part  of  Ireland  geographically 
known  as  lying  west  of  the  law,  was  obliged  for 
certain  reasons  of  family  to  come  up  to  Dublin. 
This  he  proceeded  to  do  with  due  caution  ;  two 
trusty  servants  formed  an  advance  guard,  and 
patrolled  the  country  for  at  least  five  miles  in 
advance ;  after  them  came  a  skirmishing  body  of 
a  few  tenants,  who,  for  the  consideration  of  never 
paying  rent,  would  have  charged  the  whole  Court 
of  Chancery,  if  needful.  My  father  himself,  in  an 
old  chaise,  victualled  like  a  fortress,  brought  up 
the  rear ;  and,  as  I  said  before,  he  was  a  bold  man 
who  would  have  attempted  to  have  laid  siege  to 
him.  As  the  column  advanced  into  the  enemy's 
country,  they  assumed  a  closer  order,  the  patrol 
and  the  picket  falling  back  upon  the  main  body  ; 
and  in  this  way  they  reached  that  most  interesting 
city  called  Kilbeggan.  What  a  fortunate  thing  it 
is  for  us  in  Ireland  that  we  can  see  so  much  of  the 
world  without  foreign  travel,  and  that  any  gen- 
tlemen for  six  and  eightpence  can  leave  Dublin  in 


326  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

the  morning  and  visit  Timbuctoo  against  dinner- 
time !  Don't  stare  !  it's  truth  I'm  telling  !  For 
dirt,  misery,  smoke,  unaffected  behavior,  and  black 
faces,  I'll  back  Kilbeggan  against  all  Africa. 
Free-and-easy,  pleasant  people  ye  are,  with  a  skin 
as  begrimed  and  as  rugged  as  your  own  potatoes  ! 
But  to  resume.  The  sun  was  just  rising  in  a  deli- 
cious morning  of  June,  when  my  father — whose 
loyal  antipathies  I  have  mentioned  made  him  also 
an  earlier  riser — was  preparing  for  the  road.  A 
stout  escort  of  his  followers  were  as  usual  under 
arms  to  see  him  safe  in  the  chaise,  the  passage  to 
and  from  which  every  day  being  the  critical 
moment  of  my  father's  life. 

"It's  all  right,  your  honor,"  said  his  own  man, 
as,  armed  with  a  blunderbuss,  he  opened  the  bed- 
room door. 

".Time  enough,  Tim,"  said  my  father;  "close 
the  door,  for  I  haven't  finished  my  breakfast." 

Now,  the  real  truth  was  that  my  father's  atten- 
tion was  at  that  moment  withdrawn  from  his  own 
concerns  by  a  scene  which  was  taking  place  in  a 
field  beneath  his  window. 

But  a  few  minutes  before  a  hack-chaise  had 
stopped  upon  the  roadside,  out  of  which  sprang 
three  gentlemen,  who,  proceeding  to  the  field, 
seemed  bent  upon  something  which,  whether  a 
survey  or  a  duel,  my  father  could  not  make  out. 
He  was  not  long,  however,  to  remain  in  igno- 
rance. One,  with  an  easy,  lounging  gait,  strode 
toward  a  distant  corner,  another  took  an  opposite 


Serving  a   Writ.  327 

direction,  while  the  third,  a  short,  pursy  gentle- 
man, in  a  red  handkerchief  and  a  rabbit-skin 
waistcoat,  proceeded  to  open  a  mahogany  box, 
which,  to  the  critical  eyes  of  my  respected  father, 
was  agreeably  suggestive  of  bloodshed  and 
murder. 

"  A  duel,  by  Jupiter !  "  said  my  father,  rubbing 
his  hands.  "  What  a  heavenly  morning  the 
scoundrels  have — not  a  leaf  stirring,  and  a  sod  like 
a  billiard-table  !" 

Meanwhile,  the  little  man  who  officiated  as 
second,  it  would  appear,  to  both  parties  bustled 
about  with  activity  little  congenial  to  his  shape  ; 
and,  what  between  snapping  the  pistols,  examin- 
ing the  flints,  and  ramming  down  the  charges,  had 
got  himself  into  a. Sufficient  perspiration  before  he 
commenced  to"  measure  out  the  ground. 

"  Short  distance  and  no  quarter !  "  shouted  one 
of  the  combatants  from  the  corner  of  the  field. 

"  Across  a  handkerchief,  if  you  like  !  "  roared 
the  other. 

"  Gentlemen  every  inch  of  them  !  "  responded 
my  father. 

"  Twelve  paces  !  "  cried  the  little  man  ;  "  no 
more  and  no  less.  Don't  forget  that  I  am  alone 
in  this  business  !  " 

"  A  very  true  remark,"  observed  my  father ; 
"and  an  awkward  predicament  yours  will  be  if 
they  are  both  shot !  " 

By  this  time  the  combatants  had  taken  their 
places,  and  the  little  man,   having   delivered  the 


328  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors. 

pistols,  was  leisurely  retiring  to  give  the  word. 
My  father,  however,  whose  critical  eye  was  never 
at  fault,  detected  a  circumstance  which  promised 
an  immense  advantage  to  one  at  the  expense  of 
the  other  ;  in  fact,  one  of  the  parties  was  so  placed 
with  his  back  to  the  sun  that  his  shadow  extended 
in  a  straight  line  to  the  very  foot  of  his  antago- 
nist. 

''Unfair!  unfair!"  cried  my  father,  opening 
the  window  as  he  spoke,  and  addressing  himself 
to  him  of  the  rabbit-skin.  "  I  crave  your  pardon 
for  the  interruption,"  said  he,  "  but  I  feel  bound 
to  observe  that  that  gentleman's  shadow  is  likely 
to  be  made  a  shade  of  him." 

"And  so  it  is,"  observed  the  short  man;  "a 
thousand  thanks  for  your  kinda'ess  ;  but  the  truth 
is  I  am  totally  unaccustomed  to  this  kind  of 
thing,  and  the  affair  will  not  admit  of  delay." 

"  Not  an  hour  !  "  said  one. 

"  Not  five  minutes  !  "  growled  the  other  of  the 
combatants. 

"  Put  them  up  north  and  south  !"  said  my  father. 

"Is  it  thus?" 

"  Exactly  so  ;  but  now  again  the  gentleman  in 
the  brown  coat  is  covered  with  the  ash-tree." 

"And  so  he  is !"  said  rabbit-skin,  wiping  his 
forehead  with  agitation. 

"  Move  them  a  little  to  the  left,"  said  he. 

"  That  brings  me  upon  an  eminence,"  said  the 
gentleman  in  blue.  (i  I'll  be  d — d  if  I'll  be  made  a 
cock-shot  of." 


"**  Serving  a  Writ.  329 

,s  What  an  awkward  little  thing  it  is  in  the 
hairy  waistcoat!"  said  my  father.  "He's  lucky 
if  he  don't  get  shot  himself." 

"  May  I  never!  if  I'm  not  sick  of  you  both  !  " 
ejaculated  rabbit-skin,  in  a  passion.  "  I've  moved 
you  round  every  point  of  the  compass,  and  the 
devil  a  nearer  we  are  than  ever." 

"  Give  us  the  word  !  "  said  one. 

"  The  word  !  " 

"  Downright  murder!  "  said  my  father. 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  the  little  man ;  "  we  shall 
be  here  till  doomsday." 

"  I  can't  permit  this,"  said  my  father.  "  Allow 
me — "  So  saying,  he  stepped  upon  the  window- 
sill,  and  leaped  down  into  the  field. 

"  Before  I  can.  accept  of  your  politeness,"  said 
he  of  the  rabbit-skin,  "  may  I  beg  to  know  your 
name  and  position  in  society?" 

"  Nothing  more  reasonable,"  said  my  father. 
"  I'm  Miles  O'Shaughnessy,  Colonel  of  the  Royal 
Raspers  ;  here  is  my  card." 

The  piece  of  pasteboard  was  complacently 
handed  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  party,  who 
saluted  my  father  with  a  smile  of  most  courteous 
benignity. 

"  Colonel  O'Shaughnessy,"  said  one. 

"  Miles  O'Shaughnessy,"  said  another. 

"  Of  Killinahoula  Castle,"  said  the  third. 

"  At  your  service,"  said  my  father,  bowing,  as 
he  presented  his  snuff-box  ;  "  and  now  to  business, 
if  you  please,  for  my  time  also  is  limited." 


330  Half  Hours  with  Irish  Authors.   "** 

"  Very  true,"  observed  he  of  the  rabbit-skin  ; 
"  and,  as  )rou  observe,  now  to  business  ;  in  virtue 
of  which,  Colonel  Miles  O'Shaughnessy,  I  hereby 
arrest  )'0u  in  the  king's  name.  Here  is  the  writ  ; 
it's  at  the  suit  of  Barnaby  Kelly  of  Loughrea,  for 
the  sum  of  £1,583  19s.  7^d.,  which — " 

Before  he  could  conclude  the  sentence,  my 
father  discharged  one  obligation  by  implanting 
his  closed  knuckles  in  his  face.  The  blow,  well 
aimed  and  well  intentioned,  sent  the  little  fellow 
somerseting  like  a  sugar  hogshead.  But,  alas  !  it 
was  of  no  use  ;  the  others,  strong  and  able-bodied, 
fell  both  upon  him,  and  after  a  desperate  struggle 
succeeded  in  getting  him  down.  To  tie  his 
hands  and  convey  him  to  the  chaise  was  the 
work  of  a  few  moments ;  and,  ira  my  father  drove 
by  the  inn,  the  last  object  which  caught  his  view 
was  a  bloody  encounter  between  his  own  people 
and  the  myrmidons  of  the  law,  who  in  great  num- 
bers had  laid  siege  to  the  house  during  his  cap- 
ture. Thus  was  my  father  taken  ;  and  thus,  in 
reward  for  yielding  to  a  virtuous  weakness  in  his 
character,  was  he  consigned  to  the  ignominious 
durance  of  a  prison.  Was  I  not  right,  then,  in 
saying  that  such  is  the  melancholy  position  of 
our  country,  the  most  beautiful  traits  in  our  char- 
acter are  converted  into  the  elements  of  ruin? 


B         EBB  ■_ 

91        fSm 
■9 


This  book  is  due  at  the  LOUIS  R.  WILSON  LIBRARY  on  the       1 
last  date  stamped  under  "Date  Due."  If  not  on  hold  it  may  be 
renewed  by  bringing  it  to  the  library. 

DATE                    BirT 
DUE 

DUE                       RET 

,,. 

n  No  5t3 

-.a«^«^ii— — WllMMBil^ilillwIiiwIli^l,  tfrtwrin  .  mutv. 


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